


The Piano

by xiolaperry



Series: The Piano Series [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Piano (1993)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Violence, Brief mention of previous abuse, F/M, Forced Kissing, My First Smut, Non-Consensual Violence, Oral Sex, Pining, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiolaperry/pseuds/xiolaperry
Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated...Camp NaNoWriMo project for May 2020.Winner: "Best (Worst) Villain" in The Espenson Awards 2021Nominee: "Best Movie AU" in The Espenson Awards 2021
Relationships: Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: The Piano Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005690
Comments: 285
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Rumbelling of the 1993 movie 'The Piano'. Some dialogue is taken directly from the film and from 'Once Upon a Time'. No copyright infringement intended- I'm just having fun . The film is gorgeous, if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend that you watch it. Enormous gratitude to my beta readers jackabelle73 and SeraphExodus. Also, thank you to everyone in the Rumbelle Writers' Realm at Camp Nano- I couldn't have done it without your encouragement!

Prologue

_The voice you hear is not my speaking voice, but my mind's._

_I have not spoken since I was six years old. No one knows why, not even me. My father says it is a dark talent and the day I take it into my head to stop breathing will be my last._

_Today he has married me to a man I've not met. Soon my daughter and I shall join him in his own country. My husband has written that my muteness does not bother him._

_I hope he has patience, for silence affects everyone in the end._

_The strange thing is I don't think of myself as silent, because of my piano. I shall miss it, and my books, on the journey._

Chapter 1

Belle looked down at the sand between her feet. It rushed away from her and back again in the cold seawater. Poor Tilly hunched over, ill from their turbulent journey in the small boat from the ship to the beach.

The rough sailors unloading their cargo dwarfed diminutive Belle. She watched them, concerned for her books and piano. She was less interested in the other boxes and valises that held her trousseau and other household goods. The men complained bitterly about the heavy trunks and the awkward crate. Their language was shocking. Perhaps they thought her deaf too? It wouldn't be the first time. Belle struggled to keep a smile on her face.

She could relax now that her three most precious things were ashore: her daughter, her books, and her piano. Full of curiosity at her unfamiliar surroundings, she did not know where to look first. She had read about New Zealand before they left. The descriptions of the flora and fauna, and the Maori people, fascinated her. She gazed about the desolate beach and the rocky cliffs in the distance, topped with verdant green foliage. The wind tugged at her hair. This was her grand adventure. She would be brave for herself and her daughter. Maurice, her father, hadn't given her much choice in the matter, but it was an adventure none the less. There weren't many opportunities for women back home. Perhaps it would be different here.

During the long days of their journey, she had spun endless tales with her hands. Of heroes and beasts, of princesses meeting princes and epic quests. Would a prince be waiting for them? She didn't know. But Tilly loved stories and would embellish them with details of her own, a habit she also indulged in as Belle's interpreter. 

A few of the men were hesitant to leave tiny Belle French and her nine-year-old daughter alone on the beach. Their group was not yet there to meet them. She wanted them and their rough words gone. She signed to Tilly, who told them, “She says, 'Thank you for bringing our belongings. We will be fine here. Please leave us. We insist.'”

With that, the seamen left, pushing their boats across the sand and back onto the waves. Belle and Tilly were alone on the vast expanse of shoreline. They arranged their possessions around the piano and trunks of books. She sat down on one of them with Tilly's head on her lap. A plank of the large crate that held her piano had split. She pulled at it and reached her hand inside to stroke the smooth keys. She played a tune one-handed, bringing them both comfort. 

After Tilly rested, Belle got her favorite book from her satchel. She had kept 'Her Handsome Hero' with her for the journey. The rest of her books waited, wrapped in their waterproof canvas inside her trunks. Tilly read their favorite chapter aloud.

Belle felt the first gnawing of concern for their safety alone on the beach when the sun sank golden on the horizon. But she made it into a game for Tilly, finding dry wood to start a fire and fashioning a makeshift tent from her crinoline cage and petticoats. Inside the little cocoon, Tilly interrupted Belle's story of a beautiful princess and a dark sorcerer. Grabbing her hands, she said, “Mama, I've been thinking. I bet he's not a prince. He's not even here. I'm NOT going to call him Papa. I'm not going to call him _anything.”_

__

Belle stroked her daughter's face, refusing to be drawn into a disagreement. Tilly quieted and soon sleep claimed them.

__

__

In the forest's dampness traveled eight Maori men, an old woman, and two European men. Gaston Legume walked stiffly, his manner one of disdain for the surrounding vegetation. He had been living in New Zealand for several years. He had made himself some money straightaway logging his property of valuable large trees used to build masts for ships, but now it was a constant fight to keep the land clear. Unlike the Maori who walked with grace through the underbrush, Gaston had an axe to beat it away. Nature, like some people, needed a firm hand and confidence.

__

He knew he was handsome, with his height and ebony hair, and took pride in his appearance. This morning he had taken pains with his dress and was resentful of the humidity that was ruining his look. He wanted to be at his best to greet his new wife. He stopped to comb his hair and took a moment to study the photo he had of her. Belle French was beautiful. She looked calm and sounded reasonable in her letter. She would be a worthy companion. After all the waiting, he would meet her soon.

__

Mr. Gold was the other European man of the party. None of them knew his first name, which was how he wanted it. Names were important. They had power. The Maori respected him for it. The settlers saw it as more proof of his misanthropic nature. Gaston had asked for his help with the Maori, needing assistance to carry his new bride's possessions. But Gaston did not speak their language and did not deign to learn it. Gold was fluent (another strike against him). So he went along to fetch the woman and her daughter. And Gaston now owed him a favor.

__

With the aid of a walking stick, he was more graceful than the lumbering Gaston. Gold was slight where Gaston was broad, quiet and observant where Gaston was brash and stubborn. Gaston was well-liked. At least, he appeared to be. Gold was not. Except by the Maori and Granny. Granny had left the settlement and joined the Maori people, learing their language and customs, after her husband died. The rest of them Gold didn't care about. Not a genuine one in the bunch. They came to this new land and expected it to bend to their will, to change into the same society they had left. Gold had no patience for them. They resented him because of the property he owned, the money he had and the influence he wielded over the locals.

__

The group continued on through the vegetation and reached the sand below. In the distance, they could see a collection of boxes, crates, and trunks. A tiny figure appeared to be dancing about. As soon as she noticed they had company, she ran to a woman sitting next to the largest crate.

__

Belle watched the odd group come toward them. There was a tall, well dressed man and natives attired in all manner of eccentric clothes adorned with feathers and beads. One even wore a top hat. A slight man and an old woman with a crossbow brought up the rear. She stood up. This was it.

__

Gaston approached his bride. She was small, tiny actually. Barely larger than the child she had with her.

__

“Miss French. I am Gaston Legume,” he said with a bow.

__

Belle smiled politely and curtsied. He was too tall. He towered over her. But it wasn't fair to hold that against him. He did have the face of the prince Tilly hoped for.

__

“I have men here to carry your things,” he continued. He knew she didn't speak, but he expected her to show some excitement. “CAN – YOU – HEAR – ME?” His tone brought to mind that of a man speaking to a dim-witted child.

__

Belle nodded, keeping her smile firmly fixed on her face and smothering her irritation. This was not the most auspicious of beginnings.

__

Gold watched these first interactions from a short distance away. Of course she could hear. Anyone with a brain could see she was listening to everything that was going on. Her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. How long would it take this girl to figure out she was married to a conceited fool?

__


	2. Chapter 2

Things were not progressing the way Gaston had pictured in his head.

“You have a good many boxes and trunks. I'd like to know what's in them. How about this one,” he asked, pointing at a box.

Belle gestured to the writing on the side: Crockery and Pots.

“Oh. Yes. Pots.” Gaston wiped at his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. “And this? This is huge. What's in it? A bed frame or something?” He hit the crate with his fist for emphasis. The piano inside produced a reverberating echo from being struck. Belle spread her arms across the top protectively.

Tilly spoke to her step-father for the first time. “It's my mother's piano.”

“A piano. And these trunks?” He rapped against the side of the closest one with his axe. Belle flinched.

“Those are books.”

Gaston turned away. “Gold. Tell the men to carry the boxes and suitcases.” Gold spoke to the group and gave them instructions. The Maori divided up the cargo.

Belle took the small notepad and pencil from the silver case she wore around her neck. She wrote some brief words on the paper. She brought it to Gaston, Tilly following close behind.

“The piano? The books?” he read aloud.

“No. They can't come now.” He crumpled the note.

“They must!” Tilly was her mother's voice. She knew what these things meant to her. “She wants them to come.”

“I understand. But there aren't enough of us to carry everything.” He looked at Belle. “TOO HEAVY,” he added in a louder tone, enunciating the words.

Belle felt the first stirrings of fear. She hadn't been scared when she realized she was pregnant. She hadn't been frightened when her father told her of the arranged marriage, or during the storm at sea. But this was too much. She wrote another note. He had to understand. “I NEED them. Please.”

“You'd rather have them than your kitchenware or your clothing?”

Belle signed to Tilly. “We can't leave the piano or the books. I don't care about the rest.”

Gaston stood straighter, assuming an air of authority. “We cannot waste time discussing this.” He began a prepared speech. “I'm pleased you've arrived safely-”

“Mother wants to know if we can come back for them...”

Gaston's eyes widened. Had a child interrupted him? He ignored her and continued to speak to Belle. “I would like to apologize for the unavoidable delay that led to your spending the night on the beach-”

As he spoke Belle signed, her fingers flying like angry bees.

“Can we return for them after they have delivered the other things? She must have them.”

Gaston's mouth hung open. Interrupted again?

Gold was impressed. He had never seen Gaston control his temper so well. This just kept getting more interesting. 

One of the Maori, Kamira, noticed his distress and found it hilarious. He laughed, and brought Granny over to enjoy the scene. Gaston didn't understand what they were saying, but he never took laughter (other than his own) as a good sign.

“The matter is closed. The trunks and piano will remain here. Prepare yourselves for a difficult journey. The mud is very deep in places.”

Gaston clenched his jaw and walked away. He could not believe two females challenged him. Two small females, at that. The piano and books were unneeded. His authority as a man and head of the house must stand. What an odd girl. Choosing books and a piano over clothes and household goods? Over useful things? It made no sense.

“What do you think of her?” he asked Gold. “Odd, isn't she? She'll learn who’s boss.”

“She looks tired. It was a long voyage, with a major disappointment at the end.”

“Oh, she'll get over it. What does a woman need books for anyway?” he replied, not understanding the implication that _he_ was the disappointment. “I'll go on ahead and lead the way. Have them bring up the rear.”

Boxes and valises collected, the party set their backs to the ocean and walked toward the cliffs. Gaston did not speak to Belle, nor did he look at her. He strode ahead, confident they would follow. What other option did they have?

Belle had no choice. Straightening her spine, she took Tilly’s hand. She did not look back. She told herself she wouldn't. 

However, after climbing the hill they reached a point on the cliff where there was a sudden view down onto the beach. The mist from the ocean gave her piano and books a surreal haze. They were forlorn, stark against the pale sand. It was almost more than Belle could bear, seeing them abandoned and alone, and she could not look away.

Gold saw the depth of emotion in her eyes. There was more to this than just a woman insisting on her own way. It was important. But what could he do? He couldn't very well carry the piano on his back. Even the trunks of books would be too much for him with his leg. Sympathetic, he waited a few minutes and then cleared his throat. 

Belle took a deep breath. She could do this. But she would return and retrieve these pieces of her life. The sound of the crashing waves receded behind them.

\---

Ferns and moss abounded in the humid climate. A jumble of trees, vines, leaves and roots passed before her eyes. Through it all she heard the confident voice of Mr. Gold. Gaston might think he was the leader, but it was obvious who was in charge.

Adrenaline and residual anger, the only things keeping her going during the first half of the journey, had worn off. Now she was weary to her bones. Exhaustion kept her curious nature in check. Her overwhelming impression of this new land was mud. It stained her skirts and sucked at her boots. Tilly, resilient as children are, tromped along with good humor. She was happy to be off the ship, with a change of scenery after the monotony of the ocean. Granny noticed her enthusiasm and pointed things out to her, giving her their names: the enormous kauri trees, harakeke plants covered in korimako birds, and edible white flowered maikaika lilies. Belle was glad that at least her daughter was enjoying herself.

As he whacked at the underbrush, Gaston's good humor returned. He reassured himself that Belle was beautiful. This was important for a man as handsome as he. He had assumed she would be biddable, full of gratitude that a man like him would want to marry her despite her muteness and an illegitimate child. He would be firm but patient, and their relationship would grow in time.

When it began to rain, Belle despaired of ever reaching her new home. Her dress, soaked from the storm, grew heavier. Would they march forever in circles, trapped in an infinite forest from Tilly's stories?

At last, they arrived at a large clearing with a wooden house. Gaston was proud of what he had built. He had fought back the bush using a slash and burn technique. He envisioned manicured lawns and gardens, land transformed and subdued to his will. All Belle saw was a barren graveyard of mud. She was too tired to care.

Gaston paid the men. Boxes and suitcases lay in a jumble on the covered porch. Mr. Gold left with Kamira and Granny. The three of them were alone for the first time.

“Here are the bedrooms,” he said, opening the doors. “Tomorrow I will show you my property. Please make yourselves at home. I have a few chores to tend to, excuse me.” He left them to poke around for themselves.

Belle put their things in the smaller room. She would share a bed with Tilly. She was not ready to share one with a stranger and was grateful it did not seem that he would insist she do so. He might not be the prince from a fairy-tale, but at least for the moment he was not the villain. They slipped off their muddy clothes and collapsed into the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Tilly and Belle awoke to find the house empty. While they ate bread with apple preserves, Belle noticed a woman's touch about the place: a crocheted doily, ornate china cups with gaudy red roses, lace trimmed curtains at the windows. Who chose them?

Bursting with curiosity, Tilly opened every cabinet and pulled out every drawer. Belle's first inclination was to scold her daughter for being nosy and going through someone else’s possessions. Then she laughed at herself, remembering this was Tilly's home now too. These were now _their_ possessions. So she joined her instead.

They found a washtub, and she had Tilly scrub the mud from yesterday's dresses. If the trek from the beach was any indication, mud would be their constant companion. 

Her restless hands tapped snatches of music in accompaniment to the unceasing rain on the roof. A melody expressing her current uneasiness filled her mind, and she ached to play it. She couldn't even read a book to relax.

Midday, she saw Gaston exit the barn. Perhaps she ought to have gone out there to see him earlier, but she had needed the time alone with Tilly to adjust to the new surroundings. And going out in the rain again was just too daunting.

There was a knock at the door. Why would Gaston knock at his own home? She was surprised when she opened the door, not to find her husband, but two women and a red-haired man. Gaston appeared behind the strangers, and she stood aside to let them all enter.

“May I present my Aunt Cora, her daughter Regina, and Reverend Hopper. Everyone, this is Belle and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle bowed her head and curtsied, and prompted Tilly to do so as well. Her first impression of the women was one of overwhelming coldness. Their faces were beautiful but severe. _They_ were the source of the feminine touches. Reverend Hopper was the opposite. His face and manner exuded warmth and welcome. She saw in him a potential friend.

“They're here to join us for a mid-day meal. I forgot to tell you.”

Belle had a moment of panic. What would she serve them? Gaston hadn't given her any time to prepare.

“Don't worry, we brought food with us,” said Cora, indicating Regina's raised basket. Belle motioned to Tilly to set the table. 

Fresh bread, cheese, a meat pie, and delicate cookies appeared from the basket. They looked delicious and skillfully prepared. But the uncomfortable conversation soon caused them to sour in her stomach.

“You must be _so_ grateful to have found a man as wonderful as my nephew to marry you,” stated Cora. “Did you despair of ever finding a husband considering your... _circumstances_?”

Tilly conveyed her mother's answer. “Mama says her circumstances were quite lovely, thank you. And there was no despair, she simply fancied an adventure.”

“I'm sure she did,” replied Cora, raising an eyebrow while stirring her tea.

Belle knew she had to get along with these women. She told Tilly to compliment the tea set, even though she found the large red roses garish and ugly.

“Thank you. That was a gift from us,” answered Regina. “Mother had _hoped_ Gaston would find a woman of quality to take care of them. Oh, well.”

Belle bristled. Would there be no end to their innuendo that she was somehow lacking? Gaston, enjoying his food, was oblivious to the cattiness.

Reverend Hopper attempted to steer the conversation to safer ground. “Would you like me to take a wedding photograph of the two of you? I'm an amateur photographer and always enjoy a chance to indulge in my hobby. You didn't get a ceremony, but you could at least have a picture.”

Gaston brightened. “We do make a very attractive couple. Yes, Reverend, we'd like that.”

“I agree,” interjected Cora, as if they required her agreement. “We shall all return on a nicer day and have it done. Something to show your future children, Gaston.” She patted his cheek, smiling. 

Gaston tensed and changed the subject, asking about Regina's latest projects. His aunt told them all about her daughter's accomplishments, how well she could sing, her proficiency as a cook and gardener, and her talent as a seamstress. Belle wanted to ask how such a talented, _quality_ woman was still unmarried but did not want to stoop to their level of petty barbs.

Reverand Hopper stood. “We must be going. Belle and Tilly, it was wonderful to meet you both,” he said. “I hope you will be happy here.” At last, the ordeal was over. After a series of goodbyes, Cora and her entourage departed. Gaston returned to the barn. 

When Belle finished clearing the table and washing the dishes, there was nothing left to distract her. She stared out the window at the sullen rain. Her piano and books were alone on the beach, waiting for her to rescue them.

The rain ceased during the night. Sunlight streamed in the windows, cheering Belle and Tilly as they discussed potential adventures. Gaston observed Belle and her daughter at the table, irritated. Their hands danced in silent conversation. It was unnerving. At least she would be useful around the house, someone to watch over things when he wasn't there.

“I have to go away for a few days. There is some business I need to conduct and it can’t wait. Will you be all right here tending to the chickens and other chores?”

Belle smiled and nodded. Tilly replied, “Yes, we will be.”

“We can get to know each other better when I return.” Another nod. “If you have any problems, Mr. Gold lives a relatively short distance away. I'll leave a map.”

Gaston left on horseback. As Belle tidied up, all she could think about were her piano and books. Her life was silent without her instrument. Music filled everything with color. She missed the comfort and adventure of her books.

Household tasks complete, Belle and Tilly dressed in boots and jackets. Mr. Gold had not been _friendly_ , but she had glimpsed something kind in his brown eyes. She was sure of it. He would take them to the beach.

Planks served as makeshift paths through the mud. It was a frustrating and messy business navigating them. The planks, not always close enough, often left too big of a gap to jump. They sank into the mire. At last, they left the cleared area of Gaston's property.

Mr. Gold's house was smaller than Gaston's, but it complemented its surroundings. He had not removed the native plants and trees, instead he had worked with them. It gave the effect of finding an enchanted cottage in the woods.

She knocked at the door and Mr. Gold answered. He had a cane in his hand. She hadn't noticed him using one the other day. “Mrs. Legume. What can I do for you?”

Belle wrote him a quick note. He looked at the paper and stated, “I can't read.” He was not embarrassed to tell her this. His father had abandoned him as a child with his two “aunties.” They were spinners and taught him the trade. School was a luxury he’d not had time for.

Belle was taken aback. She turned to Tilly and signed to her.

“Please take us to the beach.”

“No. I can't. Sorry.” He did not want to get involved. He closed the door.

Belle would not be dissuaded. He had to help her. She plopped down on the porch with Tilly and told her a story to pass the time. It was about an evil sorcerer who lived in a castle he had enchanted to look like a tiny house in the woods. He hunted children and skinned them for their pelts.

Tilly watched, rapt. The more fanciful and gruesome the story, the better. Belle embellished the tale with all sorts of fantastical details, wondering how long it would take Mr. Gold to emerge.

It surprised Gold when he came out to sparkling blue eyes and smiles. Their calmness disarmed him.

“I can't do it.”

They said nothing.

“I have other plans.”

Silence.

It was difficult to argue when the other party would not engage. Gold did not relish them sitting on the porch, staring at him for the rest of the day. This was the easiest way to get rid of them, he told himself as he traded his cane for a walking stick and put on his jacket. He was just removing an annoyance from his property and satisfying his curiosity. 

Feigning impatience, he started down the trail. “Aren't you coming?” 

The trip down to the beach progressed faster than Belle expected. Since it was only the three of them and they had nothing heavy to carry, Gold took them a different way.

This time she could enjoy the scenery. Instead of focusing on the mud at her feet, her gaze turned upward. The canopy of trees was a lush green against the clear blue sky. Birds fluttered and sang, and Belle imagined their chatter to be cheering her along.

Gold cast an occasional furtive glance behind him to make sure they kept up. When they reached the cliff and Belle caught sight of her things, her face transformed with joy. She and Tilly scampered down the steep incline as fast as they could, overtaking his careful descent. The change in her was amazing.

Belle ran to the piano. She tore at the slats of the crate covering the keys. It took Gold longer to make his way down to the beach. By the time he reached them, Belle was playing music and Tilly was dancing with childish abandon.

Gold watched and told himself the glow he saw in her was just the warmth of the sun. Had he thought her beautiful before? He was wrong. She was _exquisite_. Her eyes were animated and her dark hair came loose from its braid, whipping in the wind, red highlights flashing in the day’s brightness.

It was a moment he would always remember. Standing in the sand, the waves crashing, birds in the sky. Gold did not have experience with music. Like schooling, it was a luxury he had not enjoyed as a child and he hadn't had time for as he worked to make his fortune. He hadn’t known what he was missing. It was passion, longing, radiance. He was enthralled.

Tilly tired of her dance and made creatures out of shells in the sand. Gold found himself helping, drawing large outlines of seahorses and starfish with his cane. In return, Tilly told him stories of their voyage.

Too soon, their shadows lengthened across the sand. The tone of her composition changed. It sped up, as though the player was trying to cram in as many notes as possible before reaching the end. Tense, staccato sounds slowed into sad, lonely chords. Tilly sat down next to her mother and they played a brief, simple duet in farewell.

Gold helped Belle re-secure her piano. Before he thought better of it, he spoke. “Would you like to bring some books back with you? We can put some in my satchel.”

Belle opened a trunk, carefully peeling back the waterproof canvas. She looked at the books like a woman forced to choose between her children. She handed him a heavy botanical tome and a book of plays to put into his bag. Tilly was given a slim book of poems that she could easily carry, and Belle took a larger book of poetry for herself. She wished she could teleport all the books by magic and reminded herself to be grateful to have these four returning with her. It was better than nothing. She closed the lid on the rest.

It was time to leave. On their way back, Gold missed the Belle from the beach, the one who was lit from within with joy. Each step took them further away from the beautiful day on the shore. She wilted when the house came into sight. Reality returned.

Through Tilly, she thanked him.

“It was no matter. I simply wanted you off my porch.”

She laughed soundlessly, her expressive eyes appearing to see straight through him. He rubbed his fingers, uneasy from the scrutiny.

“Mama would like to know if you would care to come in.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Here, take these heavy things,” he said. Uncomfortable, he thrust the books towards Belle. And with that, he spun around and trudged home, his ears still hearing the music from the beach, his vision full of Belle's hands dancing on the black and white keys, and the memory of Tilly twirling in the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to music Belle played on the beach](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsQBKr_x-P4)  
> Composed by Michael Nyman for the film "The Piano".


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief, one sentence, mention of previous abuse. I've added it to the tags but wanted to warn for it here for those who don't want to read stories that contain it.

After his day on the beach with Belle and Tilly, he collapsed into bed, exhausted. Sleep did not come. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. Insomnia was a rare visitor. Back in Glasgow, it hadn't mattered if he’d almost killed a man in a bar brawl, donated to an orphan's charity, or evicted a tenant. His slumber was always undisturbed. He had no difficulties sleeping here, either.

Now he stared at the ceiling, its pattern of rough boards visible in the moonlight. Belle's music was a ghost haunting him. He decided the dawn would chase it away.

The sun did not help. Her phantom followed him while he assisted the Maori as a translator for a land deal, gossiped with Granny, and collected rent on a property near the mission. He heard Belle's music in the rustling of the trees and the calls of the birds. He even heard it in the rain's patter on his roof. Was he losing his mind?

It took two days for Gold to concede defeat. He would have to visit Gaston.

The next morning as he walked in the fog, he called himself a fool, ridiculous. Belle and the girl had made an impression on him, and he wanted, no he _needed_ to get past it.

Gaston was chopping wood when he got there. Gold came to the point. “My 50 acres that border your property. What do you think of them?”

“It's good land. Why? Do you want to sell it? I’m short on money right now.”

“I'd like to make a trade.”

“For what?”

“The piano.”

“The one on the beach?”

“Yes. And the books, too.”

“Gold, the music lover and literature appreciator. Who would have guessed?”

“Who indeed. I would need lessons though.”

“I suppose you would. Belle's father told me in a letter she plays very well.”

Gold gave no indication that he knew exactly how well Belle could play. How could his wife's things mean so little? Did he know her at all? 

“Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand, and they shook on it.

When he went to bed that night, sleep came as soon as he closed his eyes.

That evening, Gaston sat at the table, excited by his good fortune. He announced that Mr. Gold needed music lessons. Belle stilled, her face questioning.

“On what?” asked Tilly.

“On your piano. Well, now it's _his_ piano. I traded it for 50 acres of his land. Can you believe it? What a deal. Oh, and the books too.” He was oblivious to her fury, high on the idea that he had got the better of Gold in a trade, which was unheard of.

The thump of Belle's fist on the table returned him to the present.

Her hands flew in short impatient gestures. Her eyes snapped blue fire.

“What does she say?”

“She says it's her piano and she won't have him touch it. They are her books, and he can't even READ.”

“He wants to improve himself.”

Belle paced, her fingers continuing to move.

“He’s illiterate and doesn’t appreciate music! I don’t want to teach him.” She punctuated her last signs with a stomp of her foot.

“You will not ruin this for me. You will teach him. And that’s final,” he shouted, pushing away from the table. The chair fell over when he stood. The slam of the door shook the walls.

Outraged by her situation, having no choices again, Belle threw one of the ornate teacups. It shattered, china fragments flying everywhere. Tilly looked at her mother, eyes round. Belle apologized to her as fast as her fingers could form the words. There was no excuse for her behavior, and she was sorry.

“I'm sorry too, Mama. I don't want you to be sad anymore.”

“ _You_ are my most precious possession,” she signed. “I miss my piano, but you still make me happy.”

Tilly beamed. She helped her mother search the floor on her hands and knees to find every piece. They disposed of the shards in the waste bin. Hopefully, Cora wouldn't notice one cup was missing.

Gaston strode back and forth outside, too angry to keep still. This marriage business was getting more difficult by the day. The arrangement was not the help to him he had envisioned. Were all women this problematic? His mother had died in childbirth, so his only experience with them was with his Aunt Cora and his cousin Regina. They always made him feel uneasy.

Men were straightforward. You knew where you stood with a man. His father - God rest his soul - taught him what was important. Land, money, and respect. Other men understood that. 

He was good at everything, so it would be natural to assume he'd be a capable husband. But what was he supposed to DO with her when she made no sense? Perhaps he should try kissing her. Women liked to be kissed, didn't they?

Gaston sighed. It was a mystery to him. His father had been generous with his fists, not his affection.

In the abstract, he knew that a man like him needed a wife, children. It was expected. A woman to take care of the house, to cook. Children to help him work the land. But in reality, he wondered if the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth. 

At least he had gotten another 50 acres out of the deal.

And so it was that Mr. Gold traveled once again to the beach, accompanied by a party of ten men. Kamira asked him if he was crazy. His response, “I’m not paying you to ask questions, dearie,“ was met with good-natured teasing.

Bringing the piano back was difficult. It was awkward and heavy to carry. The weight caused them to sink farther in the mud than usual. While navigating a complicated passage, they dropped it. The discordant complaint it made at the indignity echoed through the trees. Everyone cringed. The glare Gold gave them was warning enough that they did not drop it again.

The trunks of books were easier but still heavy. All the men cursed his name at least once during the trip.

Gold didn't care. He wanted to hear Belle play again, and this was the best way. That idiot Gaston would have left the piano and Belle's books to rot.

After the piano and books were safe in his home and the Maori paid, Gold removed the crating. The salt air had dulled the instrument's luster, but it was still a thing of beauty. Gold appreciated beautiful things. He polished it, starting with the legs, until it shone. The scent of beeswax filled the air. However, when he got to the keys even his untrained ears recognized they didn't sound right.

When he had first latched onto this crazy idea, he had made inquiries. There was a piano at the mission, maintained and kept in tune by an old man from a nearby settlement. Gold had arranged for the tuner, Marco, to work on it. And after that, he could see Belle and experience her magnificent music again. He would indulge himself, and then this absurd infatuation would pass.

The day had come. He re-polished the piano while he waited, and set water to boil on the stove. The tea set was placed on the table, and the porch swept. At last, they arrived.

Belle and her daughter walked in, and she removed her bonnet. Her hair shone in the light. Not wanting to appear overeager, she did not go straight to the piano in the center of the room.

The cottage was clean. Its one sizeable room was a study in contrasts. A rich oriental rug lay on rough, knot-holed floorboards. Against the far wall, a simple rocking chair sat next to a grand bed with an ornately carved headboard. Simple earthenware dishes juxtaposed a delicate blue and white tea set. A black cat sat in an open window, watching them with curiosity.

Mr. Gold offered them tea with the best of manners. “Granny made the scones. I don't bake,” he said, gesturing at a tray.

Belle declined. She was not here to make friends. Tilly devoured them.

She opened the lid and pressed a key, steeling herself for a dissonant noise. The piano would not be in tune. Instead, she heard a clear middle C. She played a few chords and found them perfect. She looked at Mr. Gold in surprise. He smirked and said nothing.

“It's in tune! Mama was sure it wouldn't be,” exclaimed Tilly.

“I'm full of surprises.”

“Mama wants to know what you can play.”

“Nothing at all. I just want to listen.”

“I thought you wanted lessons?”

He would not explain. He couldn't even understand it himself.

Belle sat down. She opened the lid and played. At first the music's tone was belligerent, hard. But despite her intentions, it transitioned into something hopeful. She was too happy to be playing again to stay angry.

Tilly followed Mr. Gold's friendly cat outside. It, and the riot of exotic plants, was far more interesting than watching her mother.

Gold sat and listened to Belle express herself through her music. It filled empty places inside he hadn't known existed. He felt alive. The harmonies ebbed and flowed, as powerful as the ocean. He could listen to her forever.


	5. Chapter 5

A routine was established. Belle came three times a week for hour-long “lessons.” When she finished, he'd lay a book on the bench. She'd give him a wary look, pick it up, and leave. He prepared tea before she arrived, placing it on a small table next to the piano. She never drank it.

Tilly accompanied her on sunny days and ate any available treats. On rainy days she would stay home and play with her doll or do lessons in a McGuffey reader Regina had given her. When there was a torrential downpour, they both stayed at home.

One damp morning, Tilly said, “Say hello to Ebony for me.”

Ebony? What was she talking about? 

Tilly responded to her mother's puzzled look. “Mr. Gold's cat.”

“I didn't know she had a name,” Belle signed.

“When I asked her name, he said she didn't have one. Mr. Gold says when you name something you make a bond with it. It is a tree-men-dous — is that the right word, Mama? _Tremendous_ responsibility. So, he told me I could pick a name! I thought and thought and picked the name 'Ebony'. Because she's black, like the black keys on the piano. Mr. Gold said it was _perfect_.”

As Belle picked her way through the mire that day, she pondered the cat story. Perhaps she ought to stop ignoring Mr. Gold.

Gold was in despair. Having her come and play for him was not having the desired effect. He'd hoped that familiarity would breed contempt. That hearing her perform regularly would make the music ordinary, and her also by extension. But the opposite happened. 

Gold never spent time _watching_ a woman before now. He enjoyed women, found them attractive, received sexual pleasure from them. But Belle’s concentrated playing meant he could study her without being chastised for staring. And he liked what he saw. He cataloged the different emotions flitting across her face, and they were like moonlight reflected on water, shimmering and changing.

She entered the house stiff and proper, wrapped up tight in her dark long-sleeved dresses, relaxing only when her fingers touched the keys. She was layered, a mystery to uncover. He wanted to know her. What did she think about when she walked home? Did she hate him for possessing her piano, her books?

Every evening he chose a book to peruse, his reading painfully slow. He’d exaggerated when he said he _couldn’t_ read — he just wasn’t good at it. For the first time he wished he was better educated. His candles burned low as he struggled, sometimes only deciphering six words in a dozen. If he understood these things she valued, he might understand her. But for now he used the books as a gesture, a way to show appreciation and perhaps reach a truce.

It did not change the fact that he was at least twice her age, an old man. And she was married to Gaston. A proxy marriage, not even in person, and most likely unconsummated if his suspicions were correct. But it was a marriage nonetheless. 

During the night he’d resolve to return the piano and never see her again. It was ludicrous to torment himself with something he could never have. His will would crumble the moment he saw her face. 

Now, he walked around the room as he listened and observed. Her hair was up, leaving her beautiful neck bare. She was irresistible. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out and caressed her neck and shoulder.

Belle jumped, startled. She bumped the small table with the tea on it, knocking it to the floor.

“I'm sorry,” Gold said.

Belle knelt to pick up the blue and white cup. It now had a chip in it. She appeared contrite, holding the cup out to him, her trembling finger tracing the damaged rim. 

“It's just a cup. I shouldn't have touched you. It's my fault.”

Her complexion ashen, she grabbed her bonnet and turned to leave. Gold was sure he would never see her again if he didn't act quickly.

“Belle, wait.”

She stopped, but did not face him.

“I would like to make a deal.”

She remained motionless.

He thought fast. “I've been returning one of your books each time you've come. But wouldn’t you like more than books? Would you like to earn your piano back?”

This got her attention. She spun around, skirts swirling.

“One visit for each key. You come here, play for me, and we'll spend some time together. When you're done, the piano will be yours again.”

She pointed at the piano and walked two fingers up her arm. He frowned, then understood.

“Yes, I would have the piano delivered to your home. I wouldn't keep it here.” Clever girl, spotting a potential loop-hole and asking for clarification. Tricking Belle that way never crossed his mind, but he'd turned ambiguous terms to his favor many times. Few people recognized the importance of details.

She bit her lip, considering his proposal. After a moment of reflection, she ran her hand down the black keys, then did the same to the white ones while shaking her head.

“One visit for each of the black keys?”

Belle nodded.

“That's a lot less. Half.”

She started toward the door again.

“All right,” he conceded. “The black keys.” He supposed it was appropriate. They were dark, like he was inside. He wanted to enjoy her light for a little while longer, and then he would let her go.

Belle sat down. She played the lowest black key and held one finger in the air.

“The deal is struck.”

Belle continued her visits with renewed confidence. His cool hands had shocked her, and her initial concern at the mention of a 'deal' was that he'd ask something indecent of her. Instead, all he seemed to want was her time. Mr. Gold had offered a choice, and she would get her piano back.

Now, more comfortable, she drank the tea Mr. Gold prepared and ate the food he put out for them. Sneaking glances at him from the corners of her eyes, she noted he drank from the chipped cup. Who was this man that didn't throw away something damaged, who traded some of his land for a piano he couldn't play and books he couldn't read? And then traded them back simply for the pleasure of her company? He dressed well, in quality waistcoats and cravats. His long hair, silver at the temples, looked soft. He was rather handsome in his own way. He wasn't who she thought he was at the beginning, and she was glad.

Belle paid close attention when Mr. Gold spoke to Tilly, who visited Ebony on pleasant days. He was never condescending. He asked questions and listened to the answers, offering advice on her little projects. 

After their conversation Tilly would take the cat outside to play, dressing her up in hats and skirts she'd made from scraps of fabric. The cat, though tolerant, only endured the indignity for so long, and then would hide under the house. She never followed her under there, even though she'd fit. Spiders might lurk in the dark.

Mr. Gold's insomnia had not returned, and his dreams were filled with music. And of her. How had she so permeated his life? He made it a point of pride to need no one, and now this tiny woman and her child turned everything upside down. As he carved a piece of kauri wood, he realized he was lonely. And he wanted to touch her again, desperately. When he stroked her neck, it had been the first time he had touched someone deliberately in as long as he could remember. And, having done it, his fingers itched to do it again. But she was so closed off in her wrist length sleeves and heavy skirts.

Small shavings piled on the table as his deft fingers coaxed a cat out of the wood. He turned it in his hands, scrutinizing it. He added whiskers and tiny eyes with the point of his knife. And pondered it until the candle burnt out.

The next time she came, he sat down on the floor as she played.

“Lift your skirt please.”

Her playing faltered.

“I want to see your feet on the pedals.”

The request surprised her, but she complied. She took a deep breath and lifted her skirt and petticoat to her knees. The music began again.

Belle's legs captivated Gold. He watched her shapely calves work the pedals until the compulsion was too strong. He reached out with one finger and traced the line of her calf down to her small muddy boots.

Belle felt his stroking, but went on playing. He stayed below her knee and strayed no higher. How strange to play the piano while being touched by another. It was distracting, but not unpleasant. His touch tantalized; the prospect of what he might do next slowed the melody down, the notes becoming lazy and sensual. Her focus narrowed in on the unfamiliar sensations he was causing and the music ceased.

He talked to fill the silence. About Scotland, his youth in Glasgow, the topic mundane to keep his yearning in check. It was as if he was talking to himself. His fingers continued traveling over her stockings. When he paused, she played a loud, upbeat tune to break the moment. The jarring melody doused him like a bucket of icy water. He stopped, trance broken. Using his cane, he stood up and sat in the chair across the room. He stayed there, motionless, until she finished.

He added the carved cat to the customary book he gave her.

“For Tilly.”

Her eyes sparkled. Gold chided himself, noting her flushed cheeks as she left. He had embarrassed her with his clumsy pawing and inane conversation. Terrorizing some townspeople would make him feel more like himself. Instead, he picked up his knife and another piece of wood.

Granny stopped in a few hours later.

“What's wrong with you?” 

“I don't know.”

“You're sitting around here, moping. Kamira hasn't seen you in days. You haven't been yourself ever since you brought that woman and her child back from the beach.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“I've made a deal, dearie, and I intend to follow it through. And when it's done, everything will return to normal. You'll see.”


	6. Chapter 6

That evening the skin of her calf tingled, remembering his touch. She tuned out Gaston's hunting story as she replayed the caress in her mind.

Her attention snapped back when she heard her name.

“Belle, how are the lessons going?”

She gave a cautious nod. This was new. Gaston never asked questions. At dinner, he always spoke about his accomplishments and abilities. In excruciating detail. He sometimes reminded her of an overgrown little boy trying to impress his friends. When he spoke of the Maori it took all her effort to not roll her eyes. “How do they even know the land belongs to them?” was a popular refrain. It was better, though, than the stories of fights and brawls that showcased his quick temper.

“So you're getting along all right? Gold can be downright unpleasant sometimes.”

Belle smiled this time and nodded again. Having a conversation instead of being just an audience for his stories was a welcome change. Although Mr. Gold had not been unpleasant. Far from it.

“Aunt Cora told me to tell you and Tilly about the mission Christmas play. They have one every year at the beginning of December.”

“A play?” Tilly's face lit up.

“Yes. Reverend Hopper and my Aunt are in charge of it. Would you like to be an angel?”

“I would! Mama, please, may I?”

Belle signaled her affirmation. It would be good for Tilly to become part of the community. She knew she needed to make more of an effort. Especially with Gaston. He worked hard, spending more time out of the house than in it. And he hadn't tried to pressure her into his bed. Some men would have.

“It's settled then. Take her to my aunt's house tomorrow afternoon. It's next to the mission, you can't miss it. She can meet the other children and be fitted for her costume while you're at Gold's for a lesson.”

After the dishes were washed, Tilly bounced up and down, refusing to go to sleep. The excitement of the play and the gift of the cat had her wide awake. Gaston had gone to bed, and she did not want to disturb him, so Belle suggested shadow puppets.

“I'll be quiet as a mouse for a shadow puppet story!”

Belle set up the oil lamp while Tilly climbed into bed. She continued the story she'd begun on Mr. Gold's porch.

Her nimble hands created characters on the opposite wall to illustrate her tale. The sorcerer, besides enchanting his castle to look like a cottage, would transform himself into a black cat. Everyone chased the cat away, saying it was bad luck, except for one little girl who made friends with the cat by being kind.

A soft snore interrupted her. She kissed Tilly and snuggled in beside her.

The next morning Tilly twirled and danced all the way to the village. Belle didn't know where she got her energy.

“Do you think they'll be other girls there? Do you think I'll get wings?”

“Yes, and maybe,” Belle responded.

Cora's home looked very European compared to its surroundings. Belle rapped on the heavy wooden door with an ornate brass handle. To her pleasant surprise, Reverend Hopper answered.

“Belle, Tilly! How nice to see you again! Come in and meet everyone.”

Women and several children filled the large parlor. The buzz of conversation stopped when they entered. Tilly's damp hand squeezed hers when all eyes turned to them.

“I'd like to introduce Mrs. Legume and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle gave a brief nod and signed to the group.

“Mama says, 'Pleased to meet you all' and that you should call her Belle.”

A few murmured hellos greeted them.

“What's your mother doing with her hands? Why doesn't she talk?” asked a little blond girl, her voice ringing loud across the hush of the room.

“Emma!” An attractive dark-haired woman ran over, flustered. “I'm so sorry.”

Belle smiled and patted the woman's arm. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Children asked questions; it was natural.

“My Mama talks with her hands. And she says most people speak rubbish anyway, and it's not worth it to listen.”

The woman let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose you know all about outspoken little girls, Belle. My name is Mary Margaret Nolan, and this is my daughter Emma.”

The two children sized each other up. Satisfied with what they saw, they started chattering, well on their way to being friends. The activity in the room resumed.

“Come sit by me,” said Mary Margaret. “May I get you some tea?”

“She says, 'Yes,'” replied Tilly, her answer for her mother second nature.

Belle sat down in the chair. The floral cushions were trimmed with rich red brocade. The two girls plopped to the floor in front of her.

Mary Margaret returned with the tea in cups even more ostentatious than the ones she had at home. They had gold trim, elaborately swirled handles, and roses of every hue. She compared them to Mr. Gold's blue and white tea set, elegant in its simplicity.

“Reverend Hopper is going around giving the children their lines, and Regina is measuring the girls in the other room and letting them pick out fabric. She is such a talented seamstress.”

Tilly pulled the wooden cat from her pocket to show Emma. “Look what I have.”

“Can I see?” asked Emma.

Tilly handed it to her. “Mr. Gold made it for me. He has a cat, Ebony. He let _me_ name her.” Pride at this honor was clear in her voice. “Choosing a name is a _tremendous responsibility_.”

Belle stifled a laugh at the serious tone Tilly used when she spoke. She sounded almost like Mr. Gold.

Mary Margaret heard the interchange between the girls. “May I see your cat, Tilly?” 

She examined it. “This is lovely.” Belle had to agree. It was well formed, the little eyes and whiskers charming.

“I didn't know Mr. Gold could carve. He made this for Tilly?”

Belle nodded.

“Are you.... friends with him?” 

Belle wasn't sure how to answer. Were they friends?

Tilly saved her from having to respond.

“Mama is teaching him to play the piano.”

Thunderstruck, Mary Margaret leaned toward her. “My husband, David, told me he heard Gaston say that Mr. Gold traded 50 acres for a piano, but I didn't believe it. Is it true?”

Belle opened the little notebook she kept on a chain. She wrote, “Yes, it's true. Gaston traded my books and piano for the land.” Her mouth thinned as she remembered the 'discussion' they'd had about it.

“That is completely out of character. I would have never thought Mr. Gold would be interested in music. Or books. It makes no sense.”

Cora entered the parlor. “Tilly, Belle? Regina is ready for you.”

Regina was fast with the tape measure. She whipped it around, taking measurements and writing them down on a piece of paper. Finished with her notations, she asked Tilly, “Would you like to pick a fabric?”

Tilly considered them, stroking each one and holding the swatches up to the light. Regina didn't rush her. “May I have the blue, please?”

“I think that would be appropriate for an angel. Excellent choice.” She turned to Belle. “We're bending wire forms to make wings. We'll cover the forms with fabric and you'll attach feathers from an old feather bed. I trust you will be capable of doing that.”

Belle gave a sign of assent.

“Mother, please send the next child in.”

Cora led them out. “You can leave now, don't let us keep you.”

How did this woman infuse so much disapproval into simple words? Belle told herself it wasn't her, she would have found anyone lacking when it came to her precious nephew.

She waved goodbye to Mary Margaret. 

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“Mr. Gold is expecting us,” answered Tilly.

“If it's all right with you, Tilly could stay here with Emma and I. After everyone's been measured and gotten their lines, we're going to practice.”

“May I? Please, Mama?”

“It’d be no trouble, really.”

Belle told Tilly that it was fine, she would return after Mr. Gold's lesson, and to thank Mrs. Nolan.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. Goodbye! Pet Ebony for me!”

Thus dismissed, she left, pleased Tilly had made a friend. And she might have made one as well.

Mr. Gold was waiting in the doorway when she arrived. “No Tilly today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He did not make eye contact and appeared ill at ease. She felt powerful. Desired. She never had that effect on anyone before.

After she drank her tea, she played, finding her voice through her music. 

“Please take the top part of your dress off.”

The abrupt request resulted in a jangled chord. She stopped but made no move to comply. Did she want to do this?

“I want to see if your arms are as beautiful as I've imagined.”

She blushed. He'd imagined her _arms_?

“It would be worth two keys. You could earn your piano back faster.”

There were two options. She could refuse, and their arrangement would proceed along the same path. Or she could accept, the piano returned to her in half the time. Yes, she would do it. For the piano. Not because she was curious to see if Mr. Gold would touch her bare skin, and if it would be as electrifying as a touch through a layer of stockings.

Belle unbuttoned the top of her dress. Underneath she wore a thin white bodice with short sleeves above her corset. She resumed her playing.

Gold circled the piano to look at her from every angle. The backs of her hands and neck were the only parts of her browned by the sun. The rest of her delicate skin was pale, like the finest porcelain. He could almost see her nipples through her bodice. His cock stirred and took notice.

He stopped his prowling directly behind her. He let his fingertips just skim over her shoulders and down her arms, tracing the same path over and over, appreciating the softness. His tanned hands contrasted against the whiteness of her skin. It was a privilege to glimpse such beauty, to be close to it. He must be careful to do no more than this, lest he frighten her away. 

His gliding fingers sent sparks dancing across her. Heat blossomed, the trail of flames he kindled consumed her. She was unused to the strange, dizzying sensations that rose through her body. 

She could not concentrate on the melody, and it became mechanical. The ache he was building was the focus of all her attention. Her nipples tightened, and she could not catch her breath.

Overwhelmed, her fingers stopped. The desire advancing through her was too much. Belle stood up, re-buttoning her dress. Mr. Gold said nothing, only handed her a book.

On her walk back to get Tilly, her thoughts whirled. He wanted her, it was obvious. He touched her in such a reverent manner, like she was precious, like he didn't deserve to. She supposed he didn't. He wasn't her husband, after all. Mr. Gold made her feel alive and important. Her reactions to him were disconcerting but intoxicating. Her confused emotions followed her to Cora’s door, and all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has left comments - I treasure them all.


	7. Chapter 7

Tilly had a hard time getting her mother's attention on the way home.

“Mama, I had fun with Emma today!” ... “I showed everyone my cat!” … “When are we going to finish my wings?” … “Mama?” … “MAMA!”

Her mother finally responded, but Tilly was angry. Her mother _always_ listened to what she said, and she didn't like this development at all. She stomped the rest of the way home.

The change that evening confused Gaston. With a furrowed brow, he listened to Tilly's stories of the day spent at his aunt's house. Belle stared at nothing, and made no attempt to enter the conversation. It was strange at first, talking to a child. He told her some anecdotes about the people she'd met that day, and she was interested. Gaston loved attention, and her childish questions and enthusiasm flattered him.

Belle was industrious the next day, keeping her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Mr. Gold. The garden was weeded, clothes were scrubbed, and the floors were washed. Tilly grumbled at all the work. Belle suggested they make a cake, which brightened her mood in an instant.

Gaston didn't notice her clean floors, but he liked the cake, which Tilly took credit for.

As she lay in bed that night, she could not decide if she hoped for rain or sun.

After a breakfast of leftover cake, Gaston split kindling for the stove. Tilly skipped and sang as she stacked it for him. Belle occupied herself in the garden until it was time to leave. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so Tilly joined her. As they walked, Belle reminded her daughter to thank Mr. Gold for his gift. 

Gold was pleased to see them both. He liked Tilly; she spoke to him with a friendliness he had not encountered with other children. And with her here, he had an incentive to keep his hands to himself.

“Thank you for the cat, Mr. Gold.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Nicholas and Ava didn't believe me when I told them you made it for me.”

He groaned. After this, his reputation would be in tatters.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” There was nothing to be done for it now.

While Tilly frolicked outside, Gold remained seated, not trusting himself to go near Belle while she played. He kept his hands occupied with his knife and a fresh piece of wood.

At the end of the session, Tilly informed him, “There’s a play next week, and I'm in it. I'm going to be an angel with a pretty blue dress and wings. Mama can only come one time next week, she has to help set everything up.”

“Yes, the annual mission holiday play. I almost forgot. Just one day is fine. And you will make a lovely angel.”

It was raining. No Tilly today, so there was the possibility of two keys. The anticipation coursing through her was for getting her piano back sooner. That was _all_. The delicious shivery feeling inside called her a liar.

After tea, she struck two black keys in quick succession, her eyebrow raised in a question.

“Yes, two keys again.”

This time she was prepared for his touch. His hands, gentle on her arms and shoulders, mesmerized her. She reveled in the sensation; it was even more thrilling than she remembered. Events proceeded much the same as the previous time. Until his hands deviated from their earlier route and caressed her breasts. 

He tantalized her with the slightest amount of pressure. A butterfly landing on her would have been more forceful, but it reverberated straight down to her core. Her nipples tingled and hardened. How could a light touch be so intense? Did she want him to stop or keep going? She felt his warm exhale on the side of her neck, his nose tracing the shell of her ear. Her breath caught as her body clenched with yearning.

When Gold heard her gasp, he was disgusted with himself. A lecherous beast drooling over a vibrant young woman. She must find him repulsive. He hurried to throw a book on the bench, then busied himself with some tools on the table, keeping his back to her to hide his obvious arousal.

“That's enough for today.” He needed her to leave so he could calm down. He didn't move until the door closed, and her boots thumped down the steps.

Belle's knees trembled with the intensity of the feelings Mr. Gold had called out of her. When she was out of sight of the cottage, she leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.

She had not been with a man since Tilly's father, long ago. He had been her piano teacher, the first man other than her father she had spent any amount of time with, and she was naïve. Her mother had died when she was very young, and a series of governesses had raised her. The last had taught her piano, and her proficiency amazed the household. Maurice hired a piano teacher, and her talent grew by leaps and bounds.

The instructor's attention flattered Belle. He had not forced her; she wanted to please him, thinking he loved her. But the experience was messy, painful, and embarrassing. _He_ had found pleasure in her body, but the act itself disappointed her. When she asked him if this meant they would marry, he quit his post without so much as a goodbye, leaving before Maurice suspected any impropriety. 

At first she was heartbroken, then angry. He’d hadn’t loved her, and she’d only been lonely and didn’t love him either. She refused a new teacher; she didn't need one anymore. Her music came from within. And then, to her father's shame, it became apparent that she was pregnant. Maurice threatened to hunt the piano teacher down, but nothing ever came of it.

Was the arousal she experienced when Mr. Gold touched her what sex was meant to feel like? If so, she now understood what all the fuss was about. 

The rest of her free time that week, Belle helped with preparations for the play.

She spent an informative day with Mary Margaret attaching feathers to sets of angel wings. It was tedious work, and it made their fingers sore. She was certain Cora had assigned them this job on purpose. When Mary Margaret brought out some refreshments, Belle took the opportunity to ask her a question. She wrote her a note: “Why do most people dislike Mr. Gold?”

“Well, David and I haven't had many interactions with him, but I can tell you what I've heard...”

Belle nodded, eager to learn more.

“He owns a lot of property and has tenants. He insists on rent being paid promptly.”

That didn't sound so bad.

“He evicts people with no leniency, charges high-interest rates, and never hesitates to seize the collateral if you can't come up with the money. He'll exploit every loop-hole.”

That sounded worse, but people shouldn't enter a contract without knowing the terms and being prepared to honor them. Exploiting loop-holes was more troubling.

Mary Margaret warmed to the topic. She shifted her seat closer to Belle. 

“No-one knows his given name. It's only ever been 'Gold'. Isn't that odd? And he lives out in the forest, alone in that little cottage, and spends more time with the Maori than his fellow settlers.”

Belle understood being odd and an outsider. She didn't consider that a character flaw. She made a motion with her hand to indicate Mary Margaret should continue.

“I was told Mr. Gold used to be like the other translators, making deals with the Maori that worked to our advantage. Now, he always tries to arrange things so the Maori get the better part of the arrangement. Now they won't trust anyone else to negotiate for them. Many settlers feel he should be loyal to his own people, not the natives. David and I think everything should be fair for everyone, of course, but some are very resentful, and think he has too much influence.”

Mary Margaret stirred her tea, considering if there was anything else to add to her story. “And Cora _really_ doesn't like him. She's always polite, but you can tell by the look on her face she wants to strangle him.”

Belle thanked Mary Margaret for the information. She went to bed that night with aching fingers and more curiosity than before.

Props were constructed, costumes finished, lines memorized, and finally the day of the performance arrived. Belle wore her best dress, and Gaston wore his finest suit. He looked very handsome, but he should. He'd taken twice as long to get ready, combing and re-combing his hair, polishing his boots, and straightening his cravat.

They carried Tilly's costume. She wanted to wear it right away, but to keep it from getting dirty on the walk, all the children were to get dressed at Cora's home. They left Tilly there to prepare with the other girls. Belle kissed her and wished her the best of luck.

It was strange that the holiday season was warm, she thought as they strolled to the neighboring building, another thing in her new life different from her old one. Tilly didn't care what temperature it was. She loved her angel wings, her friend, and the excitement of stage debut.

Inside, the mission was chaotic. Everyone was here, chatting and laughing while they found seats. Gold put in an appearance each year, seeing it as an opportunity to conduct business or intimidate troublesome tenants. He saw Granny talking to some old acquaintances. He greeted Cora with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, and she said, “Good evening,” through clenched teeth. How he'd enjoyed turning her down when she'd propositioned him after her husband died!

_“With your influence of the Maori, and mine over the settlers, the two of us could rule this corner of New Zealand. Think of the power we could have.”_

_“I'm flattered, but uninterested,” he said, laughing. “Why would I tie myself to a woman who'd rip my heart out the second I turned my back? No, dearie. I'm far better off on my own.”_

His remembrances abruptly cut off when he saw Belle. She was radiant, and he could not take his eyes off of her. She was brighter than anything else.

Belle spotted him at the same time. He made his way through the crowd, approaching her and Gaston, and she felt panic. All the air vacated the room. An overlap of the two lives, the one in Mr. Gold's home with her piano and the one with Gaston, was not acceptable nor appropriate. They were separate; they had to be. She was still overwhelmed and confused by the whole situation.

She moved in the opposite direction, sitting down in the first empty seats she found. Gaston followed. Mr. Gold did not take the hint and sat down one seat away from her. 

Now she was irritated. How dare he sit there, calm and unconcerned, as she sat here, flustered, between him and her husband? He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. She'd mistaken a man's sexual interest for genuine feelings before. Was that what was going on? At least she knew where she stood with Gaston.

In a fit of pique, she took Gaston's hand in hers, placing them on her lap where Mr. Gold could not miss her display of affection. Gaston looked at her, confused. She patted his hand and gave him her biggest smile, batting her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Gold noticed her actions, and his face filled with pain. He stayed a few more minutes, then stood and left. She received great satisfaction from her triumph. Until she didn't. 

Belle forced herself to focus on the play. Tilly was a natural little actress. Her voice was clear and confident and she didn’t look a bit nervous. Everything else passed in a blur. One person after another introduced themselves. Mary Margaret brought her husband David over, and Granny paid her regards. Cora stopped to make a sniping remark. She was spinning. Why had she reacted with spite? To show herself she had power over Mr. Gold? She knew that already. It was not in her nature to be unkind, and it bothered her. What would happen at their next lesson?

Gaston enjoyed the evening. Everyone complimented him on Tilly's performance. He was told what a pretty step-daughter he had, and how demure and sweet his wife was. He hadn't realized what an asset Tilly could be. She made him look good, and he congratulated himself on procuring such an attractive family. Maybe he'd even let her be in the wedding photo Reverend Hopper would take after the holidays.

Gold rode home with a heavy heart. Seeing Belle with her husband made everything real. Why was he tormenting himself this way? She was not his, and she never would be.

He was a fool, but he didn't have to be a villain. He could continue this path with Belle, he could offer enough 'keys' and she might even have sex with him to get her beloved piano and books back. The thought made him ill. How could he do that to her? Why was he putting her in this position? Belle and Gaston looked like they belonged together, even if the man was a self-centered idiot. He was young and strong. He wasn't a crippled, bitter old misanthrope.

And Tilly. She deserved better, too. He'd entertained a fantasy of asking her to help him with his reading, picturing happy afternoons pouring over books. She’d teach him sign language, and he’d surprise Belle with a proper conversation. Embarrassment filled him for his fanciful thoughts. The realization that he was the actual idiot here, not Gaston, depressed him.

He sat and thought long into the night, drinking tea and then whiskey from the chipped cup. When dawn arrived, he knew what needed to happen. 

Belle was on the path, trudging through the rain to Mr. Gold's house when she came upon the piano carried by Kamira and other Maori men. He gave her a cheeky one-handed salute as they passed. Startled by the turn of events, Belle ran the rest of the way.

Belle burst into the house, door slamming against the wall. Mr. Gold was sitting at the table. Her hands flew, demanding an explanation. He didn't need to understand sign language to grasp the question.

“I have given the piano back to you,” said Mr. Gold, his voice calm. “I've had enough.”

Belle felt dizzy. He had enough? Of what? Her? The music? She made a strangled sound in dismay.

Mr. Gold stood. Disheveled and pale, he appeared to have not slept.

“This arrangement will end with you a whore, and me a monster.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to care for me, but you can't.” He sat back down and poured more whiskey into his teacup. The one she had chipped. “Don't worry. They're returning for your books after they deliver the piano.”

Belle trembled. Her piano was hers again, however her overwhelming feeling was not joy, but rejection.

“Leave.”

She did not move.

“Go on, get out,” he hissed. “And don't come back.”

Belle lifted her skirt and fled.


	8. Chapter 8

When Gaston came home and saw the piano, he was furious. 

“What is _this_ doing here?”

Belle did not acknowledge him.

“Answer me!” He grabbed a pile of books from the table and threw them to the ground in a rage. Belle's hands clenched into fists at the sight of them on the floor.

“Mr. Gold has given it back,” said Tilly, coming to her mother's rescue.

“You will not ruin this land deal for me.” He shook his finger in Belle's face. Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, almost ripping the door off its hinges.

What would people think if Gold took that land back? They'd say Gold tricked him, and he'd look foolish. He’d already started fences to mark the boundary! If Belle had worked some kind of deal behind his back, he didn't know what he'd do to her. She'd regret it.

“Gold!” he yelled, pounding on the door. “I know you're in there!” There was no reply. He barged in.

The sight of Gold sitting at the table, his head resting on his arms, stopped him in his tracks. Gold was never disheveled or caught in a vulnerable position. Some of Gaston’s anger dissipated from the surprise.

“Are you sick?”

“Something like that.”

“Listen, Gold. You're not going to weasel your way out of this agreement. The land is mine. If Belle isn't doing a good enough job teaching you, we can figure something else out.”

Gold raised his head. “I don't want to learn anymore.”

“What about our deal? I can't afford the piano if you expect me to pay for it.”

“No payment. I've given it back.”

“But I don’t need a piano.”

“I'm not giving it to _you_ , dearie. I'm giving it to your wife.” Idiot. 

“Oh. I see.” He didn't. He was more confused than ever. Since when did Gold give anybody anything? “I'm sure she'll appreciate it.”

The whiskey bottle caught Gaston's eye. Only an inch of amber liquid remained at the bottom. “Wait a minute. Are you drunk? This still counts, even if you're drunk.”

Gold's head hurt. He could endure this conversation no longer.

“Leave before I change my mind.” He would do no such thing, but Gaston didn't know that. He put his head back down. The door creaked open and then closed again. Footsteps went down the porch steps. Blessed silence. Until the hinges groaned again.

“Gaston, I told you to _get out_.”

“I'm not Gaston.”

Someone else was here. Wonderful. It took significant effort to lean back and open his eyes. “What do you want?”

Granny stood before him, hands on her hips. “I saw your face when you left last night.”

“And?”

“I don't think I've ever seen you look so distressed. Not even when you lost your top hat to Kamira in a card game.”

“Indigestion. That's all it was.”

“The piano's gone.” Granny swept her arm to the empty spot in the room.

“How observant of you.”

“Where are your manners, Gold? Aren't you going to invite an old woman to sit down?”

“I would if I wanted you to stay. But I don't.”

She sat down anyway. 

“Is everyone being deliberately dense today? I obviously don't want visitors. I'm quite busy. This whiskey isn't going to finish itself.” He poured the rest into his cup with a flourish.

Granny sighed. “I saw Gaston Legume leave. He looked very pleased with himself. You gave that piano back and let him keep the acreage, didn’t you? You have feelings for that woman, Belle. You're smarter than this. Snap out of it. This can only end badly.”

“If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it.” His tone went from antagonistic to defeated. “And it _has_ ended. It's over. Done. Like this conversation.”

Her face softened. She reached out and touched his hand. “Gold, I'm worried about you.”

“That's it. I'm going to bed.” He downed the rest of the whiskey and staggered to his feet, his grip on his cane the only thing keeping him from falling over. Granny helped him to the bed. She took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Gold muttered something unintelligible. She doubted it was complimentary.

“Sleep it off, you grumpy old bastard. You'll feel better when you wake up.”

Pleased that everything had worked out so well, Gaston whistled as he strolled back to the house. Looking like a fool was his biggest fear, and now the opposite happened. He got to keep the land and his odd wife had her piano back without cost or inconvenience to himself. It couldn't have turned out better if he had planned the entire thing.

He remembered holding Belle's hand at the play. The experience wasn’t terrible. Maybe she was warming up to him? Perhaps everything would work out with her too. He knew he'd be good at this husband thing.

Gaston entered the house. Belle was stroking the piano keys with an expression on her face that he didn’t understand.

“Everything all right with it?” he asked. “Why don't you play something?”

Belle stepped back from the piano and gestured to Tilly to take her place. She was reluctant to perform for the man who traded what she held dear with no thought to her feelings. Not to mention how angry Gaston had been just a short time ago, yelling and throwing things. People who threw books were not to be trusted. Now he was acting as though nothing happened.

“What shall I play?” asked Tilly, pleased to be the center of attention.

“Something fun.”

Tilly played an upbeat tune. “Would you like me to sing along?”

“Yes, that would be nice. At least _someone_ is happy.”

After listening for a few seconds, Belle walked out of the house. There was a jumble of emotions inside of her: confusion with Gold, irritation with Gaston and her marriage. What did it all mean? She should be happy. Mr. Gold returned her precious things to her, no more bartering for black keys. 

Attempting to analyze what happened that afternoon, Belle replayed the event in her mind. He'd said, “I've had enough.” Initially, she’d taken that as rejection. He was bored with her and didn't want her anymore. But then he said he wanted her to care for him. The self-loathing in his voice when he said he would turn her into a whore, that he would be a monster. Mr. Gold thought she had rejected him. He was letting her go because he cared for her. 

Her mind spun and circled, overwrought. She wrapped her arms around herself and paced.

Gaston watched her from the window.

“Why won't she play? She gets the thing back after being so upset about losing it. Now she just wanders off.” He shook his head. “Women. They make no sense.” They ought to be celebrating. It wasn’t every day that someone bested Gold, and he couldn’t wait to boast about it.

Tilly shrugged and kept playing. Her mother wasn't making any sense to her either.

Her mother's strange mood continued the next morning. Tilly dressed in her costume and wings to get her attention. Why was her mother ignoring her? It was simple: Mr. Gold gave back the piano and books. Mama should be happy. She should be smiling and asking her what she wanted for breakfast. Her child's mind could not see her mother's distraction as anything other than an insult to her.

Gaston noticed she was wearing her costume from the play. Still in a pleasant mood from the day before, he told her how pretty she looked in it as he was leaving. What would Mama do if she started calling Gaston 'Papa'? That might get her attention.

Belle had not _spoiled_ Tilly, but their relationship was unique, symbiotic in nature. Being her mother's voice had altered the normal mother/daughter dynamic. Maurice had loved his granddaughter, but there was always distance – she was a tangible reminder of his daughter's shame. Belle and Tilly had been the center of each other's world. Any rival to her mother’s affections would be met with jealousy.

Belle tried to play her piano, but she kept having to stop. It wasn't the same without Gold. She tried to read a book. He was in her mind and would not leave. She could not endure this. “Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow.” That's what it said in 'Her Handsome Hero.' It was good advice, and she would take it. She would be brave and go to him.

She told Tilly to wash the dishes and read her lessons. Her daughter could not accompany her today. Hurrying, she rushed to fix her hair and lace her boots.

Even though she was instructed to stay behind, Tilly followed her outside. “Wait for me! I want to come too.” She grabbed Belle's skirt.

Belle turned and snatched her skirt back, impatient to be going now that she had decided on a course of action. She signed, “No. Go inside and don’t follow me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

Tilly stamped her foot, outraged. Accompanying her mother had never been denied to her. “Why not? Why can't I?”

Belle took a deep breath, trying to be patient, but she had to leave before she lost her nerve. “You will listen to me. Go into the house. _Now_.” Her movements were sharp, irritated.

Tilly ran back in the house, angry tears in her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story earns its "E" rating this chapter.

Belle dashed down the path, heedless of the mud and branches, her surroundings a blur. Exhilaration filled her. She was running from her marriage, responsibilities, Gaston, and even, at the moment, Tilly. When was the last time she had done something just for herself? What waited for her at Mr. Gold's house? She burst through the door without knocking. 

Gold woke when he heard boots stomping on his porch. He suspected it was Granny again, or perhaps she'd sent Kamira to beat some sense into him. When he opened his eyes and saw Belle, he sat up with a jolt. He hadn't expected to see her again. She stood in the doorway, chest heaving as she caught her breath. He forced himself to appear nonchalant, even though his heart was pounding at the sight of her. Hope blossomed and he squashed it down.

“What brings you here?”

No response other than her worried frown.

“Did you forget something?” He stood and tucked in his shirt. His shaking hands were a contrast to his casual questions.

“I haven't found anything of yours.”

Belle walked to where the piano had been. She turned in a slow circle until her gaze rested on him. Pain filled her face, and he didn't know why.

“The piano and books arrived unharmed?”

A nod.

“Does Gaston suspect any impropriety between us?”

She shook her head.

They were poised on the edge of a precipice. Neither one knew how to jump.

Gold ran his hand through his hair. “Would you like to sit?” he asked, falling back on politeness, trying to find a way forward. “I am going to sit down.”

He opened a cabinet and got out a fresh whiskey bottle. His head felt better this morning than it had any right to, but he didn't think he could face this without a drink. Collapsing into his chair, he picked up the teacup and caressed the rim, stopping at the chip. He put it down and poured a generous portion from the bottle. Belle raised an eyebrow at this. Gold shrugged.

“Would you like some?”

She dismissed his offer with a flutter of her hands.

He took a sip, then rubbed the bridge of his sharp nose, searching for words. To fall back on a quip or sarcasm was not an option. All that remained was honesty.

“Belle,” he began, “I am unhappy. I am unhappy because... I want you. My mind has seized on you and I can think of nothing else.” He paused, the words difficult to get out. He spread his hands, a sad smile on his face. “Love makes us sick, haunts our dreams, and destroys our days.”

His suffering distressed her. A painful lump formed in her throat.

“So if you've come here with no feelings for me, then go.”

Imagining he saw no response to his confession, his eyes hardened. “Please leave,” he said, indicating the door with a sharp tilt of his head. He'd opened himself up to her, at enormous effort, and gotten no answer. The least she could do would be to allow him to wallow in his despair in peace.

Belle could not move, could not respond. She never had anyone speak this plainly about their feelings before. No one had ever made themselves vulnerable to her. Mr. Gold was offering her his heart. He'd as much as taken it out of his chest and placed it before her as an offering. The choice of what to do with it was hers.

She trembled, tears welling. This man with his expressive eyes and gentle hands had crept into her psyche. He had shown her body unfamiliar senses and desires. Books, music, they lacked color without him. 

Gold did not see this in her countenance. His usual negativity and self-loathing won out. 

“Why did you come back? To learn my weaknesses? I knew you could never care for me.” His voice was thick with emotion. He stood up, unable to bear her scrutiny any longer. “Get. Out.”

Anger rose in Belle. Was he blind? Why would she be here, if not for him? Her frustrations exploded, and she strode over to Mr. Gold and slapped him across the face. He stared at her, shocked. Belle hit him again, beating against his chest with her tiny fists.

Gold softened in relief beneath her blows. Her burst of emotion gave him hope again, and he enfolded her in his arms. The pummeling stopped, and she collapsed against him. He nuzzled first with his nose, then his lips along the side of her graceful neck. She looked up at him, and he kissed her, claiming her, over and over. He took her sweet bottom lip between his and sucked on it, then slipped his tongue in her mouth.

Belle slid her hands up his back, down his sides, pausing at his waist, then found the rigid line of his cock pushing against his pants. He moaned and sucked at her tongue. The sound of his desperation for her, and his obvious arousal, inflamed her desire to a fever pitch. Frantic with need, she struggled with his clothes, pulling at his shirt. Buttons popped and flew. As he slid his arms out, she tugged at her jacket, then unbuttoned her dress as fast as she could.

Gold abandoned her mouth and hungrily kissed his way down her throat. Impatient, he dropped to his knees. Belle yanked her dress away and stood in her hoops, petticoats, and corset. He ducked underneath them, ignoring the pain in his leg. He pulled her stockings down, then sucked and licked a path up her thigh, burying his face in her scent.

Belle felt as though she might burst into flames, consumed by his hunger. Dizzy, she unhooked her corset and dropped her hoops, first rushing then calmer as her heated skin met the cooler air. Gold's stubbled cheek brushed against the skin of her thigh, his lips and tongue searching. The unfamiliar sensations threatened to overwhelm her.

His thumbs parted her, then his tongue slid through her wetness, and she blushed. She hadn’t done this before, had never been kissed and licked _there_. 

Sensing her hesitation, he paused. “Sweetheart, you are delicious. Let me show you...” He kept circling, the tip of his tongue applying pressure all around where she was most sensitive. Calloused fingers stroked and teased through swollen folds. When he sank a finger in her and felt the extent of her arousal, he groaned. 

She rolled her hips, all shyness gone, the pleasure so fierce she feared she might fall. Loud, panting breaths escaped her mouth, the wonderful sound of them exciting Gold even further. He crooked his finger inside her, pressing in time with his rubbing tongue, which swirled and circled.

His mouth sucked at her pearl and her entire body tightened, building to a crescendo that vibrated to her core. Stars exploded behind her eyes as a shock of rapture hit her, then eased off in cascading waves. He stroked her, gentle and reverent, bringing her down from her high. Amazed at the response of her body, she grinned, radiant. 

She helped Gold to his feet, impatient to explore his body. He had shown her ecstasy never before imagined, and she was eager to find out what else he could teach her. Laughter followed her frenzied attack on his pants. He pulled his trousers down and stood before her naked, cock jutting at attention. Belle pushed him down on the bed and crawled over top. He lifted his hand to touch her, but she caught it in hers and pressed it down. What could she do with him, could she inflame him as much as he had excited her? 

“Is it your turn?” he asked.

She tapped his nose with mock seriousness. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then remained still. If she needed this exploration, she would have it. Lust for this fearless woman filled him, and he throbbed, aroused beyond all reason.

Belle ran her hands down his chest, her face rapt. His skin was smooth and tan, a dusting of brown and silver hair forming a trail she followed with kisses. Flat, dark nipples distracted her, and she kissed them as well to see what his reaction would be. She was not disappointed. They knotted and tightened, just like hers when he'd caressed them. Biting them, she became more aggressive, and he quivered. The muscles in his arms flexed, and his fists clenched the sheets. He breathed slowly through his mouth, keeping control.

Her hands traveled in a circle, then figure eights, up to his collarbones, around his chest, down to his stomach and navel. The next pass took her lower.

She slid down his legs to get a better look at the flesh that throbbed thick and hot beneath her. She had never seen this part of a man in daylight. Her previous encounter, if you could even call it that, had been in the dark and over quickly. 

Ever curious, she traced the vein on the underside up and down, then rubbed at the moisture that had beaded at the slit. Gold kept his hips pressed down against the mattress, the need to thrust overwhelming. He wanted her to explore to her heart's content. To be the object of her fascination was worth the frustration. The sight of her small hand wrapped around his cock almost ended her explorations. He closed his eyes, determined not to come. 

She stroked him, up and down, the heat building. When her hot, wet tongue tentatively swirled the head he could endure no more. “I must have you, I cannot wait any longer. _Please_ ,” he said in a strangled voice.

In charge, sitting astride him, she knew he would do whatever she wished. His unashamed desire, and his willingness to wait for her permission, aroused her anew, and she wanted a repeat of the pleasure he had shown her before. She nodded and kissed him, nibbling at his lips. It was all the encouragement he needed.

He flipped them over, her slight form making him feel strong. His face caressed her breasts, his shaggy hair tickling her. Her silent giggles stopped when he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Their playfulness turned to passion. 

Unable to wait any longer, he spread her legs, the heat of her like nearing a furnace. He guided the blunt head of his cock to her entrance, pressing where she was slick and slippery. He marveled at how wet she was, how aroused, for _him_. 

Belle shuddered, and he grabbed her hips to keep her still as he slid inside. She clenched him tight, her body rocking to meet him. He rubbed above where they were joined, his fingertip pressing and sliding. She panted and shook, bringing him to the brink, her responsiveness causing him to push deeper, circling his hips and grinding against her.

He wanted to be gentle, but the time for gentleness was past. Urgency gripped them both, and he thrust over and over and over, pounding relentlessly. She tightened around his length, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. His back arched. Crying out, he buried himself deep inside, spasming and shuddering with pleasure, the pressure at the base of his cock unfurling and spreading across his skin, like wildfire consuming him.

He collapsed on her, exhausted. Breathing in tandem, sweaty and trembling, they rolled on their sides to face each other in the morning light, dazed and overcome by the intensity of the experience. Foreheads touching, sharing each others air, nothing else existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first smut- yikes!
> 
> Here is a link to more of the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oq9M32vLAkQ) on youtube.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a forced kiss in this chapter. Please do not read if this sort of thing upsets you.

“I lied to you earlier.”

Belle stopped tracing patterns on his back. He rolled over and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Patting the spot next to him, he showed he wanted her close.

“I implied there wasn't anything of yours here. But there is.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small green cloth-bound book. It was “Aesop's Fables,” from her childhood. 

“Another lie - no, exaggeration. I can read, just not very well.”

He opened it and traced her name written inside.

“You wrote your name in this one. _Belle French_. The rest had printed bookplates, this one was in your handwriting.”

He looked up from the book to assure himself that he had her full attention.

“Names are important. They have power. I wanted to have yours, this piece of you, here with me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept it.”

She kissed the side of his neck, forgiving.

“Labhrainn. My name. You are the first in all of New Zealand to hear it. I trust you to keep it to yourself.”

She mouthed the name, enjoying the feel of the syllables on her lips. Labhrainn. Unusual, but it suited him to have an uncommon name.

Her wry smile made her thoughts clear to him. “Don't tease, now. I didn't choose to be saddled with it.”

She squeezed his hand. Sharing a secret was a unique form of intimacy, and she was glad he'd given her one. 

Gold snapped the book shut. Belle got up and collected her clothes. He wished their morning together would never end. “You're leaving.”

Her only response was to hold out her wrist so he could help with the buttons on her sleeves. Gold's shirt hung open, his buttons still scattered about the room.

Concerned with how much time had passed, Belle hurried to finish getting dressed. She had lost a few buttons of her own. As she reached to pick up the one she spied on the floor, she knocked it down a knot-hole in the floorboard.

“I need to know. What will you do?”

Belle tidied her hair in the mirror.

“Does this mean something to you?” This woman had changed him. He didn't recognize himself with all this talk of feelings and emotions. She was like a drug, putting him in an altered state. The words just kept coming.

“I already miss you, Belle.” Standing, he reached around her waist and breathed in the scent of her neck. “I'm a difficult man to love. But do you love me?”

Belle stopped fussing with her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had not changed, but everything was different. What had transpired between them was overwhelming, but she had to get back to Tilly. There was a lot to process, choices to make. It wouldn't do to be impulsive and come to a rash decision after the morning of mind-blowing sex. Not wanting him to doubt that she cared for him, she turned, pulling his shirt further apart to kiss him on his chest over his heart. 

Gold was confused. Was this an answer? He studied her face. “Come tomorrow,” he told her with urgency in his voice. “If the answer is yes, that you want us to be together, come tomorrow.”

She put the book on the table next to the chipped cup and left before he could tempt her to stay.

That morning, Gaston had decided to work in the barn instead of going straight out to the new property. When Tilly’s shouts reached his ears, he'd returned to the house in time to see Belle leave and an angry Tilly stomp away. Belle didn't even notice his pursuit in her rush.

He crept up to the cottage, a hunter stalking his prey. From the bottom of the porch steps, he could almost make out Gold's quiet murmurings. When the slapping and scuffling noises began he advanced to the window without making a sound. He saw Gold and _his wife_ in a passionate embrace. He reeled, dropping to the porch, his back sagging against the wall. The muted sighs, moans, and breathless sounds of pleasure paralyzed him.

Anger and curiosity trapped Gaston between them. Curiosity won. He looked again. Gold was on his knees under the cage of her hoops. Belle ripped at her clothing, yanking off her corset. He grimaced at the sound of fabric tearing.

Gaston continued to play the voyeur. With Belle's eyes closed, swaying like she might fall over, she'd never notice him. Gold was intent at his task between her legs, licking and kissing. Then he stopped, and Gaston darted back. He heard Gold tell Belle she was delicious. He knew men sometimes did this sort of thing, they told bawdy jokes and stories about it. But the idea of kneeling before a woman, worshipful, did not appeal. Although Belle was enjoying herself, if the loud panting was any sign. He peeked again, and yes, Gold had returned to his ministrations. Did he _enjoy_ doing that?

After Belle had tensed like she'd been struck by lightning, she helped Gold to his feet, then ripped his pants off. He hadn't realized she was such a wanton. Gold's stiff cock answered his question, he'd obviously enjoyed the time spent on his knees. He observed that the man was well endowed, then chided himself for even noticing such a thing. 

Realization that he was in a vulnerable position came to him. Granny or those Maori could show up at any moment, and he didn't want to be caught spying. Besides, they'd moved to the bed, which he couldn't see without sticking his head in the window. They'd notice that.

A black cat butted against his hand, looking for affection. Irritated, he swiped at it, causing it to run off hissing under the house. There was just enough room for him to follow. And a knothole in the floorboard to make it easier for him to eavesdrop. The panting and moaning were endless. How long did this act take?

A period of relative silence followed. Gold spoke some nonsense about books and names. It was difficult to pay attention; he was getting uncomfortable, and he was certain a spider was walking across his hand. A button dropped through a knothole nearby. At last, Gold asked something important.

“What will you do?”

After Belle left, Gaston did not go straight home. He needed time to think. What _would_ Belle do? Her actions tomorrow would answer the question. Maybe this was to be a single occurrence, to show her gratitude for the return of the piano. For now, no one else knew. That was the most important thing. People would mock and laugh if they found out. The secret must be kept. As long as she didn't go back, everything would be fine.

That night, Belle was giddy. How did couples get anything done when there was such fun to be had? Her first lover ought to be ashamed of himself. He had either known nothing about a woman's body or just didn't care.

Trying to calm down, she asked Tilly to read her favorite book aloud. She saw Mr. Gold's – no, Labhrainn's – expressive face on the prince, herself on the princess. When they got ready for bed, Tilly brushed Belle's hair. Unable to contain her high spirits, she grabbed her and tickled. The two rolled around, laughter ringing through the house.

Pleased with her mother's good humor, Tilly demanded a shadow puppet story. Belle acquiesced. Now the sorcerer was not evil like everyone assumed. He was only lonely, and the princess he'd stolen away fell in love with him. Tilly applauded this romantic development. Belle hoped Tilly’d be as enthusiastic about her mother’s romance after she’d had time to process it.

In the next room, Gaston paged through a book on botany, eyes not seeing the pages. His jaw clenched, and his neck was stiff. When he could no longer take the sounds of happiness that assaulted his ears, he took his axe and went outside to chop wood until the window of the bedroom darkened.

Long after Tilly fell asleep, Belle replayed the morning's events. She wondered if Mr. Gold would enjoy her mouth on him to completion. The next day could not come fast enough.

After breakfast, Gaston announced he was continuing his task of building a fence on his new acreage. As soon as he was out of sight, she instructed an irritated Tilly how to spend her morning. She was upset about being left behind again, but they didn't have as much of a confrontation as yesterday. She had to teach her boundaries. It would be difficult for Tilly to understand, but she was a bright and loving child. Given time, she'd realize Mr. Gold hadn't stolen her place in her heart, he'd expanded it and there was more than enough room for them both.

She hurried along the path. Brimming with happiness, she wondered what he would do when he saw that she had come back to him. There was much to discuss, which would be difficult, considering he didn’t sign and had a hard time with reading. But sometimes she felt as though he heard her in his head. He would understand that she wanted to be with him, wanted the three of them to be a family. She and Tilly could teach him sign language and help him with his reading.

As she raced past a grouping of trees at the edge of Gaston's property, the man himself stepped directly in front of her. Shocked, Belle stopped short and almost tripped. Gaston's face was blank, his eyes empty. She decided in an instant to keep walking, acting like nothing was amiss. But he followed her, grabbing her arm and wrenching her back to him. He did not speak. Pulling her hair, he kissed her hard, bruising her lips. There was no affection, only dominance, a show of power. 

Belle’s heartbeat roared in her ears. She kept her mouth clenched shut and did not fight back. Her jaw ached from the effort. When he stopped to breathe, she shoved him with all her strength and ran away. Gaston was faster. He caught her, and she clung to a stout tree branch, kicking at him as he pulled. The rough bark dug into her hands.

“Maaammmaaa!” she heard Tilly call from a distance. She was coming up the path. Relief at Tilly's disobedience brought tears to her eyes. “Mama, Aunt Cora is looking for you!” At the sound of her voice, Gaston froze. Belle gathered her composure; Tilly must not see them like this. Gaston took her arm and marched her back to the house.

“There you are,” said Cora as they came into view. Her sharp eyes noted Belle's pale face and Gaston's grim mouth. “We were just stopping to thank you for allowing Tilly to be a part of our little play. And, I know Gaston would appreciate having an enjoyable meal for a change, so we wanted to invite you to dinner for Christmas.” 

“Thank you Aunt, we will attend. However, we are very busy. Don't let us keep you.” He walked straight past her to the woodpile and cut lengths of board. His axe hit the mark each time despite his speed and wood split with a crack. 

“Well, I never saw such rudeness.” Cora stalked off to where Regina was waiting with the horses when it became apparent Gaston was ignoring her.

The rest of the day Belle lay on the bed. When Gaston started hammering planks over the windows she covered her ears, the sound of the nails in the wood like clods of earth falling on a coffin. He finished his work with a wooden bolt on the front door, enabling him to lock it from the outside. That would keep her home. She would not go back to Gold.

Tilly sat next to her mother. “You shouldn't have gone to Mr. Gold's house again after he returned the piano and books. I don't like it, and neither does Papa.” Why did Mama want to spend time with him without _her_? Mr. Gold was nice, and she liked his cat, but it wasn't worth getting into trouble. Calling Gaston 'Papa' was the best way her child's mind could conceive of how to get back at her for causing this upheaval. Belle ignored the ploy and closed her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

Belle dreamed of Mr. Gold. His arms were around her as they lay on their sides, facing each other on the bed, his cock hot and hard between them. He kissed her with such tenderness it made her cry. When she tried to embrace him in return, he dissolved and left her with nothing but air and tears on her face.

Unable to go back to sleep, she stroked her arms the way he had, trying to recreate the smallest bit of the feelings Mr. Gold had given her. It didn't work.

Breakfast the next morning was _polite._ Tilly chattered about wanting to visit Mary Margaret and Emma again, filling the uncomfortable silence. 

“I will be building fences on the new property today, so I'm going to have to bar the door when I leave. Tilly, I know you're a good girl, but your mother must learn.”

Belle wanted to smack him.

“Could you slice up some bread and cheese to take along, please, Tilly?” She jumped up to fill his lunch bucket. Gaston leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out long in front him. Belle fantasized about throwing her coffee in his face to wipe the grin off of it.

Belle knew what Gaston was doing. But calling him out on using a little girl as a pawn was not an option. The situation was too volatile. However, it was better than Gaston being unkind to Tilly. Yesterday's scene could have been far worse. She had a moment of gratitude, then berated herself. She should _never_ have to be grateful for not being assaulted.

With a cheery goodbye, Gaston returned to his fence building and barred the door behind him. She made a concentrated effort to be positive for Tilly's sake. Playing cards was a diversion for a part of the morning. Tilly was excited that she won every hand. Belle didn't just let Tilly win when they played – in her opinion, learning to lose was an important skill. But concentration was difficult; her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Gold. Labhrainn. She couldn't call him that in her mind yet, not while everything was still in upheaval. 

How long had he waited for her yesterday? Was he still waiting, or had he given up, assuming she didn't love him? She pictured him at the table, alone with her book and chipped cup, and it broke her heart.

Belle could not touch her piano. It made her memories of Mr. Gold too vivid. She drew up some sheet music for Tilly to practice with, and they worked on chords and some simple songs. The long, dreary afternoon passed slowly. Books were not an escape. How could they be when her head was filled with him?

“I have chores near the house today,” said Gaston as she poured his coffee the next morning. “We’ll be having visitors this afternoon. Tilly, you can work in the garden for a little and then play outside if you like, no need for you to spend such a nice day indoors. But I think your mother should stay in and prepare something for our guests.”

He barred the door when they went out.

Cora, Regina, and Reverend Hopper did not know what to make of the fortified house when they arrived.

“Have the natives threatened you?” Cora asked Gaston when he came in from feeding the chickens.

“No, Aunt. We have had no problems.”

Belle served tea in the garish rose cups and sent up a silent prayer that Cora would not notice one cup was missing from the cabinet. A lecture about her unsuitability would send her over the edge and she'd probably smash them all.

“I'm glad to hear that. You see, the latch is on the wrong side of the door. When you close it, they will lock you in, instead of them out. You would be trapped.”

“It is rather dark in here with the windows covered,” said Reverend Hopper with a frown. “Is everything all right, Belle?”

She put on a brave face and nodded. The Reverend didn't need to be drawn into this. His expression still concerned, he asked, “Can you visit Mary Margaret next week? She sends her regards, and would like for the girls to get together.”

Belle looked at Gaston. How would he respond to this?

“Belle might be busy here at home. We'll see how the next few days go. I'll tell David when they’ll be able to call on them.”

As Reverend Hopper continued to feel out the situation, Regina emptied the basket. There was an apple pie she had made as a gift, and some preserves and ribbons. “We've been making the rounds spreading Christmas cheer,” said Regina. “We even took something to Mr. Gold's house, however undeserving he is.”

“Only because the Reverend insisted it was our Christian duty,” replied Cora. “Even if he is overly friendly with the natives. Granny was there, looking almost like a native herself.” She sniffed with disdain. Reverend Hopper stifled a sigh. “I don't know how anyone can stand to be in his company, even Granny. Mr. Gold was _insufferably_ rude today.”

“Now, Cora, we need to --”

Regina interrupted him. “It's no matter. Tomorrow or the day after, he'll be gone.”

Belle's teacup clattered against the saucer as she put it down. She did not trust herself to hold it with her shaking hands.

“So Gold is packing up,” said Gaston. This was interesting news.

“He doesn't have much to pack, but he is leaving. I never understood that man. He has plenty of money -- he could have had a gracious home in the village and been part of the community. But no, he preferred the Maori to his own people. I say good riddance.”

Unable to remain sitting due to the agony inside her, Belle went to her piano. The anguish was too large to contain in her body. Music was the only way she could endure her emotions and keep from shattering. Mr. Gold had given up, thinking he was unloved and unwanted. 

They watched her, surprised by her sudden movements. The melody she played cast a feeling of melancholy over the room. It was pain, loss, heartbreak personified through music. It was like nothing any of them had heard before.

Reverend Hopper put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Belle, what's wrong?” She shook him off and kept playing. “Belle?”

Uncomfortable at the sudden tension, Cora said, “We must be off. There are others to visit.”

“Yes, Aunt. Thank you all for stopping by.”

Cora leaned in to stage whisper to Gaston. “Are you sure she's not mentally.... unsound?”

Belle made no response. She was pouring out her desolation for Mr. Gold. 

“She's fine. I'll follow you out.”

In the sunlight, Reverend Hopper wrung his hands. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. We just have a few things to work out between us.”

“Reverend Hopper, would you and Regina go on ahead? I'll catch up. I'd like to speak to my nephew for a moment.” 

When they were far enough away, Cora asked him, “What's going on here, Gaston?”

“Marriage is not what I thought it would be, Aunt.”

“What she needs is another child. A son for you. Then she'll settle in.”

“I don't know if we'll ever love each other.”

“ _Love?_ Love is weakness. It means nothing. A baby, Gaston. Strong, healthy sons to keep the family going. Everything will work out then, you'll see.”

“I'm sure you're right. Thank you.”

Gaston approved of Belle's behavior that night. She was docile, serving him his meal, cleaning his boots and listening to his stories with no strange outbursts. As a test, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. She did not flinch. Tilly played the piano and sang. She called him 'Papa' now. He put his arm around Belle while they listened, and she did not pull away. This was what he pictured when Maurice French answered his advertisement for a wife.

Belle woke the next morning to the sound of boards being ripped from the windows and sunlight. Gaston, rising early, wanted to reward Belle for her better attitude the night before. 

Finished, he came in, passing Tilly on her way out to dance in the sun and feed the chickens. “We must move on,” he told Belle. “Gold is leaving. No one will ever find out what happened. It's over.” He leaned down to look straight into her eyes. “You _will not_ see him.” Tense moments passed.

Belle looked away first and shook her head. No, she would not see him.

Satisfied, Gaston gathered his things. There was work to do. “I'll be out at the edge of the new property,” he called as he walked away. 

She watched him leave from the window, then opened the piano lid, reaching where the keys met the strings. A key removed and ready on the table, she heated a needle in the flame of a candle. The work was painstaking. When she finished, she had an engraved message on the side of the key. “Dear Gold, you have my heart.” She signed it Belle French. He had to know when he left he would take a piece of her with him. Not just her name, but her voice, and her heart. The piano missing its key would never be the same, and neither would she. He would understand.

She wrapped it with linen and tied it with a blue ribbon. Tilly was still outside, playing with her doll. Belle knelt in front of her and put the package into her hands. “Take this to Mr. Gold,” she signed. “It belongs to him.”

Tilly shook her head. “No, Mama. We're not supposed to go there.”

“ _I_ am not supposed to go there,” Belle corrected with deliberate, precise signs. She would keep her promise to Gaston, but Tilly had promised nothing.

Ignoring her mother's request, Tilly put the key down and continued to play with her doll. Belle pulled Tilly to her feet and gave her stern instructions. She pressed the wrapped gift into her daughter's hand, and sent her on her way.

Tilly reached a literal crossroads. The path forked - the right took her to Mr. Gold's; the left led to Gaston. She hesitated. The last time Mama visited Mr. Gold, the entire house got boarded up. Going there started problems, and it was _his_ fault Mama was acting strange. Gaston was being nice. He seemed to like it when she called him 'Papa'. She'd never had a Papa before. Left. She would go left.

Thus decided, she continued skipping and singing. In her naivety, she believed that her choice would make everything better. Her Mama would smile again, and they'd visit Emma. Gaston would be a real Papa and love her. The sun was out, but gloomy clouds were gathering on the horizon. She followed Gaston's fence posts up and down the hills. At last, she saw him. Kamira was working with him today. Well, not working but watching as Gaston drove a post into the ground. He put his flask away when he noticed her.

“ _Kia ora_ Tilly!” he called out.

“Hello, Mr. Kamira. Hello, Papa.”

Gaston stopped hammering. “What do you have there?”

“Mama wanted me to give this to Mr. Gold.” She brandished the slender wrapped package at him, its blue ribbon eye-catching in the sun. “I didn't think I should. Want me to open it?” she asked, pulling at the bow.

“Give it to me.”

Palms sweaty, he undid the parcel. He stuffed the linen and ribbon in his pocket. A piano key? He turned it and saw the message. Fury rose in an instant, flashing through him and bursting into flame. He heard his father's voice.

“You let a woman make a fool out of you? I'm not surprised.”

“They'll laugh -- she preferred an old cripple to _you_. I knew you were worthless.”

“Teach her a lesson she won't soon forget.”

Each beat of his heart pounded another thought through his head:

“This.

Will.

Not.

Stand.”

The ivory key dropped from his fingers when he grabbed his axe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to hear the music Belle played](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGuaAvEiaK8)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for violence and disturbing imagery.** Please skip this chapter and wait for the next one if this type of thing upsets you. I kept this chapter short and separate from the rest for that reason.

Belle was sitting at the table trying to read when Gaston burst into the room, axe in hand. The smash of the door hitting the wall startled her; his expression chilled her bones. There was no doubt in her mind what had happened. It had been wrong of her to put Tilly in such a position, she thought fleetingly. And now she'd pay for it.

His eyes skipped from her and focused on the piano. He crossed the room with large, determined strides. Belle's first instinct was to throw herself on it to save it. The icy fury in his face stopped her. He slammed the axe down on the piano with a resounding bang. The dissonant noise from the strings vibrated through the house, the instrument crying out as if in pain.

Gaston wrenched the axe from the lid, splintered wood flying. “I trusted you. Why would you humiliate me?” The quiet words, spoken in a reasonable tone, carried more menace than if he'd shouted them. 

Shock broken, Belle jumped away as the axe crashed down again. His next strike cleaved the book on the table in two. A teacup hit the floor, exploding into red and white shrapnel. An inane thought skittered across her mind: 'Another cup broken. What would Cora think?'

“Why would you do that? Why would you make me have to punish you?” He sighed and shook his head, as though contrite.

Belle tried to dash around him to the open door. He was too fast. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her out of the house. They grappled in the doorway. She sank the nails of her free hand into the wood trim and tried to pull herself from his grip. Her nails ripped, leaving gouges behind.

Clouds darkened the sky, and the rain started. The sudden storm turned the ground into mud. It dirtied her dress as she struggled.

“I am _not_ a fool.” Louder now, he yanked her away from the clotheslines as she tried to hold on to a sheet that hung there. The mud spattered the whiteness of the sheet with dark marks, ideograms of a frantic message in an unknown language.

“What does Gold have that I don't?” he yelled. Gaston didn't want her heart or any other such flowery nonsense. But he'd be damned if he'd let her give it to another. 

His voice carried to Tilly, who was approaching the house. She had dawdled on her way back, not wanting to see her mother get into trouble. Gaston was far more upset than she'd expected.

“I'm better than him!” The rain pounded, stinging her face as she flailed. The world had turned to black and white. Her apron and hands were stark against her dress and the muck.

“You will answer for this disrespect.” Gaston pulled her toward the woodpile and the chop block. Belle realized where they were headed and thrashed like an animal caught in a trap. She broke free, sliding and crawling in the mud. It clung to her, weighing her down and hindering her attempt to flee. He clamped on to her dress and hauled her back.

“Why not me? Why!” His anger fed on itself, frenzied. Gold, with his cane and graying hair, was _nothing_ compared to him. Belle underestimated him, didn't respect him. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

He pushed her down, and she hit her head against the block. Dazed, her eyes fluttered. Were those tears or rain? 

Gaston seized her hand and held it in place with his booted foot on her wrist.

_“Do you love him?”_ he shouted. He raised the axe.

“No!” screamed Tilly, running toward them. “She doesn't! She doesn't love him!”

He brought the axe down with a crack.

In Belle's head, the sound of the downpour ceased. She could see Tilly's lips moving. All she could hear was a strange, high pitched ringing. Time slowed and stretched like taffy.

A startled bird took flight from the woodpile.

Tilly's mouth open in terror.

Raindrops bounced in a puddle with red blossoms.

Gaston released his grip. She staggered to her feet. She noticed a finger on the chop block. Hers?

Pain.

The world sped up again.

Blood had spurted on Tilly's pinafore. That was a mess for later. It wasn't time to do the laundry. She wrapped her hand in her muddy apron. Turning like a compass needle searching for north, she lurched in the direction of Gold's home. She must get to him. Unsteady, she stumbled and sank slowly to her knees. No color remained in her face.

“Mama!” Tilly ran to her mother, wanting to help but afraid to touch her.

Gaston, his mind still swarming with violent thoughts, picked up his wife's index finger. He wrapped it in the linen and blue ribbon he'd kept in his pocket. She wanted Gold to have her heart? He'd have a piece of her, the bastard. 

Stunned by the vicious scene she'd witnessed, Tilly backed away from him. He forced her to take the small bundle. 

“You give that to Gold. Tell him if he ever sees her again, I'll remove another one.”

When she did not move, he yelled, “Run!”

Sobbing, she obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene in the film was so _intense_ \- I think anyone who's seen it will never forget it. I tried to think of a different way for the story to play out; I didn't want poor Belle to lose her finger. But it is an integral part of the film, and I couldn't come up with a way to make the story work without it.


	13. Chapter 13

_Two days earlier..._

Needle and thread in hand, Gold settled himself on the porch to wait for Belle. He sat outside, wanting to see her the moment she appeared. He wore his best waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. No cravat. There was no need to look overdone. 

He sewed the buttons Belle ripped off with passion yesterday. She'd been glorious and fierce, and he hoped the buttons he reattached would be popped off again. He'd suspected there was a passionate nature underneath her self-containment. Bringing that out was a highlight of his life and a privilege.

The bright sun shone overhead when he finished his mending. Gold got out his knife and a piece of wood. A rough form appeared beneath his patient hands. A new cat for Tilly. He'd make her a whole cat family. Perhaps Belle would bring Tilly with her today. As much as a repeat of the previous day's activities would be perfect, seeing Tilly again would be enjoyable as well. She was intelligent and spirited like her mother.

He must learn to sign as soon as possible. He learned the language of the Maori, he could learn this. There was much to discuss and there was the problem of what to do about Gaston. But he wasn’t concerned. If there was anything he was good at, it was dealing. When two people want something the other has, a deal could always be struck.

As the sun tracked its way across the sky, disquieting thoughts set in. Where was she? Maybe Gaston had worked at home today. The light faded, and with it, his earlier joy was replaced with despair.

Darkness came. Gold contemplated the indifferent stars above and felt very small. Those stars had seen many things. They'd seen the dark deeds and deals he used to amass his fortune in Scotland. He'd been ruthless. They saw him find a measure of peace here in verdant New Zealand among the forthright natives. The bargaining skills he’d gained he used for their benefit. 

But he hadn't gone soft. No, old habits die hard, and he did not make friends with his fellow settlers. He wheeled and dealed, always in his favor, and to the detriment of the unwary. And now here he stood, gazing up at the night sky, alone.

He woke up the next morning to Granny poking him with her crossbow. “Are you still drunk, Gold?”

“You're not going to shoot me, are you? No, I'm painfully sober.” He stretched, stiff from sleeping in the chair. Every joint ached.

“Then why are you sleeping outside?”

“Because I didn't want to sleep in my bed, obviously.”

“Something wrong with it?”

“No.” It would have broken him to lie in it and catch a whiff of her fragrance.

Granny peered at him over her spectacles and frowned at the sadness etched in the lines of his face.

“Let's go inside, and I'll make you breakfast. You'll never guess what Hira told me about Nihe.”

“You just want to eat my food,” he grumbled. Granny's gossip always made an adequate distraction. A fresh day brightened his outlook, and a tiny ember of hope still burned. She might come today.  
-  
-  
-

The stars came out again, and still she had not returned. His hope transformed into grim acceptance. He should have known. No one could ever love him. Especially not a vibrant young woman with her entire future ahead of her.

Now, with a grief so profound he could neither sleep nor eat, he knew he had to leave. She had moved on. He must do likewise.

Granny had no need to poke him when she checked on him the next morning. If he'd slept the night before, he wasn't aware of it.

“Oh, Gold.” She sighed. One look at his face told her no amount of gossip would help. “I'll make you something to eat.”

“Nothing for me, thank you. Please make something for yourself.” Granny squeezed his arm as she passed him. “On second thought, could you make me some tea, please?”

“I'll get it started right away.”

His tea had cooled enough to drink when Cora's small group arrived.

“Hello, Mr. Gold. So nice to see you on this fine day.”

Gold felt sorry for Reverend Hopper. He was a kind man, he cared and tried to “shepherd his flock.” But he was firmly under Cora's thumb. He doubted she allowed him to give a sermon without her approval of the topic. What the Reverend needed was a strong wife, to balance out his gentleness with some backbone. That would be the only way for him to escape being Cora's puppet.

Cora's haughty voice cut into his musings. “Aren't you going to greet us, _Mr._ Gold? Or has living among the savages caused you to forget all your manners?” 

Gold put aside his tea and leveraged himself up with his cane. He made a courtly bow, extending his arm with a flourish. “Good morning, Reverend Hopper, Regina. You'll notice I don't include you in my greeting, Cora, as any morning with you in it could never be good.”

Reverend Hopper tried to salvage the visit, which was not going the way he hoped. “Mr. Gold, we are here at my suggestion. I want to spread Christmas cheer and greetings to everyone, and that includes you. Might we please come in?”

Hopper was making a valiant effort, he had to give him that. On any other day, he might have invited them in and played dutiful host. But this was not any other day.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Reverend. But Cora can take her bloody Christmas cheer elsewhere.”

Granny came out when she heard him raise his voice. “I see you have a visitor here already,” sneered Cora.

“Yes, I do. And I have much to accomplish today, so I'll bid you _haere rā_.”

“Come, Regina. I won't spend another second in this miserable man's rude presence.”

“Actually, a moment please, Regina. I'm leaving, and this will probably be the last time I see you. You have spirit, and there is good in you. Get as far away from your mother as possible and give that goodness room to grow. You'll be much better off.” He hoped she'd take his advice. It was the only way she'd find any happiness.

Regina removed a package from her basket and handed it to Reverend Hopper. He approached and placed it on the step.

“I'm sorry to hear you're leaving us. The Maori will miss your help. I wish you safe travels.”

“Thank you, Reverend. I meant no offense to you, it has been a difficult couple of days. But you're another who would do well to rid himself of that viper. Goodbye.”

Granny picked up the package to spare him the step down, knowing his leg must ache. They turned their backs on the trio and entered the house. 

“Keep whatever that is. Knowing Cora, it’s probably poisoned.” He rubbed his fingers, uncomfortable with what he was about to ask. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you make sure the cat is taken care of?”

“ _The cat?_ The little black one that comes around?”

“Yes. After I'm gone, see if Gaston will take it for Tilly. If he thinks it is his idea, he might let her have it. But if he doesn't, would you look after it?

“Yes, I can do that. You're really leaving?”

“Yes, I am. And thank you.”

“I'm sure you have a lot to do, so I'll go. But don't leave without saying goodbye.”

“I won't.”

Exhausted, Gold sat on the porch again. Thankfully Granny had asked no questions about the cat. He was too tired to explain.

A few minutes later Ebony herself appeared, weaving through the plants on dainty feet. She jumped into his lap and settled there, purring.

Gold scratched her head and ears. Her golden eyes closed to contented slits. He remembered the first time he saw her, a scrawny little thing, just skin and bones. The smell of his dinner cooking had drawn her, and she'd watched him with bleary eyes, hopeful for something to eat.

Hunger was a suffering Gold understood all too well, and he couldn't bear to let anything starve, not even a cat. He'd tossed it scraps of meat and after that, the cat was a regular visitor.

He'd found satisfaction in watching the cat fill out, her dull fur becoming glossy with health, her ribs no longer visible. But he never named her. No, naming was not for the likes of him. Then Tilly came along, and now she was Ebony.

Lost in his memories, his cat warm in his lap, he dozed.

He spent the next morning packing the few belongings he wished to keep into the saddlebags. The teacup and book were wrapped with care, the only two things he truly cherished. Gold saddled his horse. The Maori village would be his first stop. He would gift his land to them; it was theirs to begin with. And he wanted to say goodbye. 

Granny was leaving with her crossbow, ready to hunt when he arrived. She surprised him with a traditional Maori greeting, the _hongi_. As she pressed her nose to his, she said, “I'll miss you, Gold. You've been a good friend to me.”

“And you to me. _Haere rā_.”

“Let's not drag this out. I wish you well, Gold. Goodbye.”

He saw Kamira on his way to the village elders.

“Gold! Just the person I was hoping to run into,” said Kamira, speaking to him in his native tongue. “I have something to trade.” 

“I'm not making deals today.”

Kamira pulled the gleaming ivory piano key from his waistband. Gold lunged for it.

“Give me that.”

“I found it. What will you offer me for it?” He knew Gold valued the piano the white woman had brought and thought he might make a good trade for this piece of it.

“Where did you find it?” His fingers tightened on the reins to keep himself from grabbing for it again.

“There's something written on the side, but I can't read English.” He pondered for a moment. “I'll trade you this for your knife.” Kamira had long admired it and Gold never showed any willingness to part with it.

“Deal.” Gold dismounted and opened his saddlebag. The knife, really more of a dagger, was ornate, a work of art. He pulled it from its sheath and it gleamed in the sun. They traded.

The words were difficult to decipher. They were written in flowing script instead of plain print. He concentrated. His eyes narrowed as he sounded out the words, his heart thudding in his chest. These might be the most important words he'd ever read.

“Dear … Gold … You … Have … My … Heart. Belle French.”

Tilting his head back, he laughed with joy. Hope rushed back. In his giddy relief, he did not think to chase down Kamira and ask how the key had come into his possession. Belle loved him.

He'd be patient and go home. No matter how long it took, he'd wait for her. She'd sent him a piece of her treasured piano that was her voice. No one had ever given him anything so precious.

The rain that fell on him as he rode did not dampen his spirits. He repeated the message to himself over and over, savoring the sound of the words, his heart so full of happiness he thought it might burst. “Dear Gold, you have my heart. Belle French.” He was still smiling when he reached his home.

Granny rushed out.

“Gold! I heard the girl, Tilly, screaming, and I came running. She has blood splattered on her. I took her inside the house. Get in here, quickly!”


	14. Chapter 14

Gold leapt off his horse, not taking the time to grab his cane. Granny took it for him, and followed as he limped up the steps. Tilly was huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her legs. She wailed when she saw him. He dropped to the floor next to her and stroked her hair.

“What's happened? Are you hurt? Where's your mother?”

Unable to speak through her crying, she handed him the bloodstained package.

How could something that small look so ominous? Whatever it was, it had caused Tilly great distress. Hands shaking, he undid the ribbon. Blue, like Belle's eyes. The bundle opened. Horrified, he jerked backwards with such force that he hit his head on the wall. His stomach heaved and spots danced before his eyes. It fell from his numb fingers and rolled on the floor.

Granny let out a small shriek before she composed herself and grabbed it to remove the tragedy from Tilly's view.

The terrible sight of Belle's tiny finger and the urgency of the message she needed to deliver gave Tilly her words back.

“You cannot see her again or _he'll chop her to pieces!_ I was supposed to bring you the piano key, but Gaston sent this instead!”

Gold knelt in front of Tilly, grabbing her by the shoulders, desperate for information. “Gaston did this? I'll kill him. Where is your mother!?”

Tilly's shriek, long and high-pitched, hurt his ears. She could form no thoughts to answer. Granny intervened.

“Gold, stop. You're making it worse. She's just a little girl and you're scaring her.”

Grabbing his cane, he got to his feet, incandescent with rage. He spun his cane around and swung the gold handle down on the porcelain washbowl and pitcher. White fragments exploded, crunching underfoot as he lunged toward the mirror. He smashed it before it showed him his reflection and continued beating on it until only shards remained. Blazing, white-hot fury consumed him, and he felt as though he were watching himself from a great distance.

A hand clutched his arm, and he jerked around, ready to strike.

“Gold, enough! Think of Tilly, she doesn't need to see this.”

“It will never be enough! Not until I crush his skull.” He hurled a plate across the room and it shattered against the wall with an unsatisfying crash. He needed to hear Gaston's bones shatter. Yes, that would be better. He'd kill him. Now.

Tilly flung herself on him, wrapping her arms around one leg and halting his exit. “You can't go there, please! Gaston might kill my mother, he said he'd cut another finger off if you saw her again!” 

Gold punched the wall in frustration. Tilly's eyes, swollen from crying, pleaded with him. It was enough to bring him back to himself. The child was right, going there now was a terrible idea. He took Tilly over to the rocking chair and gathered her into his lap.

“We'll both stay here,” he said, keeping his voice calm with significant effort. Taking care of Tilly would come first, then he would plan Gaston's demise. “Granny will make us something nice to drink. Maybe some hot chocolate? How does that sound?”

Granny sagged with relief. Had Gold gone there now, there was no doubt this night would have ended with Gaston's death. As much as she would have enjoyed that, the rational part of her knew it would create more trouble. Otherwise, she'd be heading there herself to shoot him with her crossbow.

The rhythmic movement and creaking of the chair soothed Tilly. He hummed her a lullaby, plucked from a distant memory of one his auntie used to sing. It had always made him feel better when she sang to him when he'd waken up from a nightmare.

Granny brought two steaming mugs over, placing them within his reach.

“Thank you.”

“It's the least I could do.”

“We'll be all right now.”

“You promise not to go over there tonight?”

“Daisy, I give you my word.”

“Daisy. There's a name I haven't heard in a _long_ time. No, that's a young girl’s name, I'm Granny now. Your word is good enough for me. I'll take care of your horse, then I'll get David Nolan to check on the situation. I'll come back here first thing in the morning.”

Gold could always trust Granny to keep her head and take sensible action. He nodded, then sat Tilly up. “Drink this, you'll feel better.”

Tilly took small sips from the cup he held for her. After she finished, she began to weep.

“It's my fault. Mama told me to bring you the package, but I took it to Gaston instead. I thought he'd be happy that I listened! But when he saw the piano key, he was so mad. It's all my fault.”

Gold turned Tilly around so he could look directly into her eyes. The emotional damage done to her was enormous. He must be very careful with Belle's child; this conversation could break her further, or help her begin to heal.

“No, Tilly. This is _not_ your fault. What happened to your mother is Gaston's fault. You are just a little girl, and you only did what you thought was best. He is an adult, and he is the one responsible.”

“She'll hate me.”

He hugged her. “Oh, precious lass, your mother could never hate you. She loves you so much and that will never change. She loves you more than anything else in the world. Anyone can see that.”

“But I called Gaston 'Papa', I wish I didn't. I hate him now.”

“I understand. Every child wants a papa, there's nothing wrong with that. Gaston doesn't deserve to be your Papa. You deserve better.” He hoped very much that someday, he would earn her love and be her Papa.

“I never met my real father.”

“We have something in common, then. I never met my mother.”

“You didn't have a Mama?” asked Tilly, incredulous.

“No, I didn't. But I had two wonderful aunties who gave me all the love I could want, and I turned out just fine.” Many would disagree with that assessment, but that was beside the point. “Now, how about we get you ready for bed?”

“I don't want to go to sleep.”

“I'll make you a deal.” He set Tilly on her feet and got one of his old shirts. “You put this on, and climb into bed. And I'll let Ebony get in with you. She tries to sleep in the bed with me, but I never allow it. Too hot and furry. But just this once, I'll make an exception.”

“You won't leave when I fall asleep?”

“No, I won't. I promise.”

Gold went outside to give her some privacy, and to find the cat. Luck was with him for once, and Ebony came when he called her. He gave her a small piece of jerky and brought her inside. Tilly was in the bed, yawning.

“Here she is, as agreed.” He blew out the candles and put out the lamp. Stretching out next to her on top of the covers, he crossed his arms behind his head. He forced himself not to think of Belle. What she had lost, the repercussions of what that idiot had done. Did Gaston even comprehend what he'd taken from her? No, there wasn't time to cry for that now; he'd mourn what happened later. Now was the time to concentrate and plan. His mind worked through scenarios until he nodded off without realizing it, worn out by the day's events.

_Earlier that evening..._

Cora and Regina struggled to remove Belle's clothes. The fabric was heavy with mud and rainwater. They resorted to scissors to cut off her sleeves, not wanting to jostle her more than necessary. 

“What a dreadful accident.”

“Why was she chopping kindling? There was enough already,” asked Regina. “And where's Tilly?”

Gaston, observing from the corner, shrugged. “She was there when it happened and took off running towards Gold's house. I'm sure she's fine.”

“Of all the callous, uncaring --”

Cora interrupted. “That's not important right now. We need to focus on Gaston's wife. The wound is clean, and the bleeding has stopped. If no fever sets in, she will recover.”

They heard the door open; someone had let themselves in. Gaston tensed, alert. Regina found it suspicious that he reached for his gun.

“Hello?” a voice called out.

Gaston relaxed. “In here, David.”

“What's going on?” he said, entering the room and seeing Cora and Regina with Belle.

“There's been an accident,” answered Cora.

“An accident? Granny told me to come here right away, that Gaston attacked Belle.”

“How ridiculous. Really, you think you'd know better than to listen to _Granny_.”

“Tilly told her that Gaston chopped her mother's finger off.”

“The child was overwrought after seeing a _tragic accident_. Nothing more.”

David turned to his friend. “Gaston?”

“It's exactly what she said.”

There was more going on here, David was sure of it. But no one ever contradicted Cora, and he had nothing to back up Granny's story.

“Does that mean Tilly is safe?” asked Regina.

“Yes, Granny left her with Gold. She's upset, but unharmed.”

“I'm glad.” She glared at Gaston, irritated that his step-daughter's well being meant so little to him.

“She'd be safer with a crocodile,” muttered Cora.

“I'll send Mary Margaret over for her tomorrow, I know she'll want to help.” 

Cora put on her gloves and asked, “Would you like Regina and I to stay? Or fetch Reverend Hopper?”

“No, thank you. Go home, you can check on us in the morning.”


	15. Chapter 15

Gaston watched over her in the night. Belle was pale, her sleep restless. Twitching and moaning, a nightmare played across her face. He sat motionless in a rare contemplative state. No anger remained. It had snuffed out like a candle as soon as Tilly ran away. He doubted she'd come back. 

Belle's eyes opened. “Tilly?” she mouthed, questioning.

“With Gold,” he answered.

Her most pressing concern dealt with, she focused on him, intent. He studied her in return, examining her for the first time. He found no fear in her expression, only weariness. There was an ocean of thoughts in her blue eyes. Why did he never stop to listen to them before? Gold saw them, he realized. Gold had seen them from the beginning. 

Belle's heart was so... _light_. Even with all the trials she must have faced in her life. Even with the latest one that he had brought upon her. Gold's was too. Gold thought his heart was dark, as did everyone else, but it wasn't. It was full of love, like Belle's heart, and only waiting for the right person to bring it out.

And himself? There was nothing, no love, not even lust. Had it been beaten out of him by his father? Schooled out of him by his aunt? He didn't know, all he knew was his heart was empty. A bit of shame, new and uncomfortable, lodged in his chest.

The only sound was the wind while Gaston and Belle reached an understanding.

Gold awoke with a start, the muzzle of a rifle poking his cheek. The coldness of the metal dashed all sleepiness from his mind and he was now fully alert. He had reclined on the bed to think and nodded off. Tilly slept, wrapped in a blanket beside him. Granny was gone; he was grateful she left when she did, and thus would be spared. Cautious not to disturb the sleeping child, he sat up, furious with himself that he'd fallen asleep.

“Has Belle ever spoken to you?” asked Gaston.

“With her hands?” This was not how Gold expected this conversation to begin.

“No, with words.”

Gold shook his head. He picked up the piano key from where it lay beside him, and it felt cool in his palm. If Gaston shot him now, at least his last thoughts would be of her. He would get him to do it outside, to spare Tilly another traumatic event.

“She has spoken to me. Here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “I listened, and I heard her.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, 'Let me go. We are not meant to be together. Let Gold take me away.' There was more, but it's personal.”

“Why did you punish her? If you needed to hurt someone it should have been me. It was my fault.” Tilly stirred, and he lowered his voice. “My fault,” he repeated.

“I wanted to care for her. I wanted to have the _right_ things -- a wife, a family. My aunt, the community, they expect it.”

Gaston lowered the gun. He looked up at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts.

“Now I just want my life back. You will take Belle and Tilly and leave as soon as possible. I will annul the marriage on the grounds of non-consummation.”

Admitting this appeared to embarrass Gaston. Gold considered if he could now wrestle the gun from him. If only Tilly wasn't there; he couldn't take the chance with her so close.

“I'm sure you'd like to take your revenge on me. But it's not what Belle wants,” Gaston stated.

Gold's wants in this case were bloodshed and Gaston's complete destruction. But what _did_ Belle want? She would not want him to darken his heart. It was simple, really. Did vengeance mean more to him than Belle?

It was noon by the time Mary Margaret and David arrived at Mr. Gold's house to collect Tilly. “Come on David, hurry up! Poor girl, she must be eager to leave,” she said, rushing David along. She expected to find a hysterical child, further traumatized from spending the night in a rough cottage with a surly old man, who knew nothing about children.

What she found shocked her and completely changed her world view.

Mr. Gold was outside on the porch, his sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a pinafore against a washboard. He’d propped the door open and Tilly was sitting inside, eating lunch and feeding scraps to a sleek black cat.

“We're here to get Tilly. Thank you for taking care of her; we'll take over now.” 

“You are welcome to invite her to come with you, but I doubt she'll go.”

“Why not?”

He gestured with a sudsy hand. “That door is open because she won't let me out of her sight. It made my trip to the privy this morning an interesting one, let me tell you. I had to sing the entire time to convince her I was still there. Go on in and talk to her. I'm not finished with this dress.” Gold shook his head and sighed, resuming his scrubbing.

Mary Margaret felt the need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Gold spoke again in a lower tone, “A warning. You're not to force her to talk about anything or do anything she doesn't want to. I'll not have her upset.”

David pulled up a chair next to Gold, and Mary Margaret went inside. Tilly eyed her with a wary expression, tensing like she was ready to bolt. She was wearing what must have been one of Mr. Gold's shirts.

“Hello, Tilly. Would you like to come home with David and me, and play with Emma?”

“No.”

“You don't have to stay here with Mr. Gold. You could stay with us, just until your mother is better.”

“I want to stay here.”

“But Tilly, Mr. Gold doesn't know how to take care of a child. We'll have such fun, I'll even bake a cake.”

Tilly would not be bribed. “Mr. Gold and me and Ebony will take care of each other. He _promised_. You can't make me leave.” Tilly pet the cat as she spoke, her hand trembling.

“It's all right, Tilly. We won't force you to leave.” Mary Margaret stepped toward her to give her a hug, but Tilly drew back. She settled for giving the little girl a reassuring smile and returned to her husband who was asking Mr. Gold a question.

“Granny told me what happened, that Gaston did it on purpose. Are you telling me that's true?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why would Gaston do that to his wife? It makes no sense.”

“He did it because she loves me, and I love her.”

Mary Margaret's mouth dropped open, and they both gaped at him in disbelief. David recovered first.

“Then how are you sitting here, calmly washing clothes, instead of going after Gaston?!”

Gold took a deep breath, pushing at his hair with his shoulder in an awkward motion. He pulled the garment out of the soapy water, stretching it out. “Do you see this?” he asked in an icy voice.

They nodded. They could see the spatter marks of what must be blood. 

He pitched his voice low for Tilly not to hear, and they leaned closer to understand him. “You don't think I want to show the world what happens when you hurt someone I love? I would like to go over there right now. I'd take _my_ axe, and his finger would not be enough for what he's done. No, I'd chop off his head. But I won't.” His hands clenched into fists, and the sheer menace in his words caused Mary Margaret and David to draw back. 

Gold took a deep breath and stretched his fingers to calm himself. They could see the crescent marks his nails made where they had dug into his flesh. He wiped his wet hands off on his trousers.

“Gaston and Belle have come to an agreement, which Granny has confirmed. Fortunately, the bastard didn't take a finger from her dominant hand and she can still write. Belle wants me to stay here with Tilly until we are ready to leave. Tilly won't go back there, and Belle doesn't want her to see her until she's more... recovered.”

Gold's voice, matter-of-fact before, became passionate.

“Belle has had enough taken from her, and for now, she is making _all_ the decisions. She's never had choices before in her life, and I'll be damned before I take them away from her, no matter how difficult it is for me. If she wants me to let Gaston live, if she wants me to do nothing, then that's what I'll do.”

Tilly came out and wrapped her arms around him from behind, and Gold composed himself. “We're leaving in five days. There's a ship due then at the beach. Granny's granddaughter is being dropped off. I've sent Kamira to intercept it at the stop before this, to arrange passage for us. I've promised him my horse if he manages to do it.”

“What can we do?”

“Mary Margaret, can you pack Belle's things, and bring Tilly some clothes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And David, do you think you could build me a cage?”

“For Gaston?” asked David, confused.

“No, dearie. Not for Gaston. For the cat. Ebony is coming with us, and I don't fancy her jumping out of the canoe in a panic and drowning on our way out to the ship.”

Belle emerged from Gaston's house on unsteady legs. Reverend Hopper held out his arm for support. His concern was clear, and he frowned, sad at her leaving in these unhappy circumstances. Mary Margaret cried.

Cora stood off to the side, oozing disapproval. Belle was not a suitable match for her nephew. She would find someone better, more appropriate for their family. Regina was not with her; they had quite the argument that morning over Gaston and his culpability. 

Gaston himself was nowhere to be seen. Gold was grateful for this - he was not sure he could have refrained from beating him with his cane, no matter how much he desired to respect Belle's wishes.

Tilly stayed close to him. She was nervous to approach her injured mother and clung to Gold's trousers. Not letting go of her hand, he went to Belle and embraced her, sandwiching Tilly between them. Cradling her face, he pressed his forehead to hers. Then he kissed her in front of everyone, proud to claim her as his. Cora went back into the house without speaking, disgusted by the public display of affection.

Belle knelt to get closer to Tilly, love shining in her eyes, signing to her as best she could. Tilly hugged her mother tight; the gulf she'd feared between them closed.

Kamira had arranged passage on the ship that was delivering Granny's granddaughter and was pleased he’d obtained both Gold’s knife and his horse. He'd made out very well in his deals.

They were to meet them at the same point on the shore where Gold had first met Belle not so long ago. It felt like a lifetime since then, and now the journey to the beach was made in reverse, but slower. Granny, carrying Ebony in her new cage, encouraged Tilly along. 

Gold did not let go of Belle's hand, nor did he take his eyes off of her. He kissed her uninjured fingers whenever they stopped to rest and kept up a one-sided conversation about all the wonderful things they would do when they got to Scotland. The men he'd hired stared with curiosity to see him so besotted.

Seeing the crated piano and trunks of books on the beach caused time to double back on itself in Belle's mind. They were the same, but she was not. Bruised but unbroken, she was confident in her choices. She couldn't wait for her new life to begin. There were trials ahead, to be sure. Signing with a missing finger, for one. But she refused to dwell on it.

“Ruby!” yelled Granny, waving with both hands when the boat from the ship came close enough for her to see the passengers.

Their joyful reunion continued in the background as Gold distributed their belongings between the sailor's boat and several Maori canoes. They insisted on providing tender to the ship, as a sign of gratitude and respect for all his help over the years.

Everything prepared to his satisfaction, Gold approached the group. Granny and Ruby were talking and laughing with Tilly and Belle. Kamira was looking at a tattoo that caught his eye. Tattoos had great importance in Maori culture, and he was examining the lion on the man's hand with interest.

“It's time.” Gold was sorry to break up the happy assembly, but the sailors were waiting. Granny hugged all three of them in turn. 

“Take care of your grandmother for me. She's getting old and in need of assistance,” he told Ruby, winking, unable to resist a parting shot as he helped Tilly get situated next to Ebony's cage.

“Who are you calling old? I took care of _him_ , Ruby. Don't let him tell you any different.”

Granny stood and watched them leave, the loaded canoes getting smaller as they approached the ship that looked tiny in the distance. The one Belle, Gold, and Tilly rode in sat low in the water, the piano weighing it down.

Ebony voiced her extreme displeasure at being caged. Tilly attempted to comfort her. “Mr. Gold says there's always mice on ships, and you'll have lots of fun catching them. And the sailors will be happy to see you. A cat brings good luck on a ship.”

They were about halfway to the vessel when Belle removed her hand from Gold's and signed to Tilly.

“What did she say?”

Tilly replied in a tone of disbelief, “She says, 'Throw the piano overboard.'”

“We're safe, we won't sink,” he reassured her.

Belle signed again, her face stern.

“She doesn't want it.”

“I know it's damaged, but we can repair it.” He removed the key with its precious message from his pocket. “I have the key. The piano will be as good as new.”

Belle shook her head and pulled at the ropes.

“Sweetheart, stop. You'll regret it. I want you to have your piano.” He would do anything for her, he had even done _nothing_ for her.

“She says, ‘No. Get rid of it.’” 

“Listen to her, Gold,” said Kamira while he paddled. “It's a coffin. Pitch it into the ocean.”

Belle cupped his cheek. She wanted him to understand. This piano was her former life. It had been her voice, but she didn't need it anymore. She wanted to start fresh, and this would only weigh her down.

“We'll throw it overboard,” said Gold. If she saw this piano as her past, they could bury it here at sea. They would get a new one when she was ready.

Untied from its ropes, it slid off the planks and made a tremendous splash. It sank, gone in an instant, the waters closing over it as if it had never existed.

A fantasy flitted across Belle's mind - her jumping after it, joining her piano at the bottom of the sea, together in a dark, watery grave.

Gold squeezed her hand, sensing the shadow that had come over her. She squeezed back. She chose the sun, a new adventure with her child and the man she loved. She and TIlly had found their prince in an unlikely place, and he was better than any of the fairy tales in her books. This was their happy beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is marked as complete for now, but I do plan to write an epilogue, possibly as my project for Camp NaNo in July. I also plan to write Gaston's death, since we all know he deserves to die. Send me your ideas for his death (bit by a rabid squirrel? Colonel Ives comes to visit?) to my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiolaperry) account, I am xiolaperry there as well. I will write an "all they ways Gaston could have died and the one way he did" kind of thing if there's any interest. Also feel free to send prompts for what you'd like to see in the epilogue, or 'missing scenes'. I'll do my best to write them, but I've never done anything like that, so I can't promise to do them all.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read my story, and a huge thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments.


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